My Dearest Abigail, A Lifetime Ago
by liger1983
Summary: Aro decides to punish Jasper for his role in the Newborn Wars.
1. Chapter 1

The Cullens were tense as they sat in the living room. Alice had been taken by a vision of Aro on their snowy front stoop, accompanied by the worst of his ebony-cloaked guard. The snow had begun to fall that morning. Now, books lay half-read and scattered across side tables. A multi-board chess game was unfinished. Both Jasper and Emmett claimed that they had been winning, but neither had the fervor to argue it. They were still - unbreathing, unblinking.

"What do they want?" Rosalie snapped. Her hand had curled so tightly into fists that her manicured nails were cracking the skin of her palm. Alice shot her a deadly glare. "I've told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Girls, please," Esme said, "this is difficult enough without you two arguing. I'm just glad Renesmee's in Switzerland, this would be too much stress for such a young girl."

She sighed softly and rested her fingers in Carlisle's waiting hand.

"I wish Edward were here to read Aro's mind," Emmett said, "That Dick's never straight forward. If people would just say what they fucking mean . . . sorry Mom."

He had caught Esme's stern look.

The distant crunch of snow under foot. The strong perfume of sweet roses with the trace of stale human blood. Aro and his guard had crossed the threshold of their property. The Cullens stood in preparation. Jasper clasped his hands behind his back, squared his shoulders, and subtly positioned himself in front of Alice. Though Aro desired her for her gifts - it practically leached from him - he would never have her.

There were three quick raps on the door.

"Aro," Carlisle greeted, opening the door. His smile was forced. His emotions were a mess of confusion and worry.

Aro appeared with his guard, black-cloaked, crimson-eyed and foreboding. There were four of them, Aro at the front, Jane and Alec flanking him. The fourth figure was a curvy redhead, her nose beakish. When set together, they resembled a murder of crows.

"What a pleasant surprise," Carlisle continued, greeting each in turn, "Jane, Alec, and . . . I don't believe we met."

Jane gave a tight smile. Alec's muscles did not even twitch towards a reaction. The wind howled through the open door. The Guard did not step inside.

"Ah, Carlisle, my old friend," Aro gushed, "this is Lilliana. She is a recent addition to our guard."

Lilliana simpered at Aro's attention, curling her hair through her ashen fingers. She looked more like one of their silly, girlish receptionists than a stony-faced guard.

Carlisle said, stiffly, "Pleasure."

Aro took a step into the threshold.

The tension is them room thicked. Jasper shifted his weight to his back foot. Emmett crossed his arms across his chest. Rosalie swallowed a hiss.

"Surely, Aro," Carlisle said, "you aren't just here for a visit?"

Aro shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I'm here on business. I need to speak with one of your . . . children."

At the snide remark, a wave of disgust rippled through the Cullens, then lit like a fire in Esme. She fought the curl of her lip.

"Jasper, will you join me for a walk?"

"No!" Alice screamed, her eyes still blank with a vision. Before Jasper could react, his arms were wrapped around her waist. Dread began to consume him, the emotions of his family heaping onto his shoulders. He was Atlas. This was his burden.

Aro gifted Alice with a placating smile. "Very well."

"What is this about?" Jasper had found his voice and was forcing it to sound steady and strong. Though he had faced death a million times over, his survival instinct had never dulled. He was on a knives edge, the closest to death he had ever come. Staring into Aro's apathetic - no, slightly amused - eyes.

Aro said, "Maria. She has broken our laws and has been punished accordingly."

He paused, letting the gravity settle. Maria was dead. There was no need for innuendo.

"All of her associates," Aro continued, " will have to be punished as well."

"I haven't been involved with her in over a century," Jasper said. Surely, in all the years that had elapsed and all of the vast knowledge the Volturi had, they knew his actions and his intent.

"Ah." Aro clicked his tongue. Patronizing. "But we have no statute of limitations. And you did, in fact, break our laws."

He spread his arms in a wide, theatrical shrug. 'It's out of my hands, Jasper', he seemed to taunt, 'what can I do?' It set Jasper's teeth on edge. The earth seemed to protest as well. Trees groaned under the weight of heavy snowfall. The wind beat into their backs.

Carlisle spoke on behalf of his son. "What laws has Jasper broken? Surely you are not trying to claim he is guilty by association?"

Did it matter? Vampires had no Constitution. No Bill of Rights. No rights at all. The Volturi's word was law. Unquestionable and unchanging, barring some revolution. No. Jasper halted that line of thought. If Aro were to read his mind now, it would be over. Not just for him, but for his family. For Alice. He would not allow that.

Aro said, "He was a willing participant is activities that exposed humans to our kind. The punishment for that crime is death. Please, let's not delay this any longer."

Jasper closed his eyes. He imagined his limbs being ripped from his body. This wasn't a new pain, he had been dismembered and reassembled more times than he could count. He had felt the fire in his joints, and the corrosive acid of venom spilling from his skin. Yet he did not know how it would feel to be burned. To die. To feel the eternal fire of Hell.

"No, Aro, please," Alice begged. Desperation was pouring from her like a river. "Do you want me to join you? I'll do it, just don't hurt him. Please."

"Allie," Jasper murmured, rubbing her arms, "don't."

Esme took a step towards her daughter, reaching for the pixie of a girl. Jasper gladly handed her over. It was another barrier between his Wife and his fate. Every inch of separation between them was a blessing.

Aro smiled. There was an idea blooming in his mind, his emotions ranged from amused to exacting. "No, My Dear Alice, we would like you to join us of your own free will. Not because you feel you have no other choice."

He paused, relishing the drama. "Though, perhaps I could offer an . . . alternative punishment? Considering the circumstances?"

Jasper looked wearily at Jane, and her crimson eyes glinted like coals - eager to satisfy her more sadistic bent.

"Oh, no," Aro cooed. Jane's face fell. "I think that it will be Lilliana who assists us. Lilliana?"

He brandished his arm, inviting the woman forward. Her hair bounced and her eyes twinkled. "Whatever you wish, Sir."

Syrup. Fake. Revolting.

Alice closed her eyes, trying to pull a vision from the ether. Her hysteria mounted with each ticking second. Her nails dug into Jasper's skin. "Why can't I see?"

"You can't see the things you don't understand, correct? You don't see the wolves?" Aro said. The Cullens stiffened. Their alliance with the wolves had been a point of contention in the narrowly-avoided battle. With dancing, calculating eyes, Aro continued. "Perhaps Lilliana's gift is too unique?"

"Perhaps," Alice conceded. She pouted, but her glassy amber eyes remained focused. She had given up on visions.

"Lilliana," Aro stated, "has the ability to move people through time. Backwards . . . forwards . . ."

He paused, seizing the sojourn to look from Cullen to Cullen. Wonder, bewilderment. Every emotion was written on their faces. Jasper wore a mask of calm, but it concealed fear and rage. Murderous thoughts were creeping in once more. It would be easy enough to dispose of Aro. One quick movement would rip his smirking face from his body. If not for Alice's safety . . .

"Of course, I will have to learn more about you, Jasper," Aro said, "to find a suitable punishment. It will require some creativity."

And he treason would be revealed.

Aro held out his hand for Jasper, moving his fingers in a delicate invitation. Jasper stepped forward, grabbing Aro's hand as if to shake it. Aro's eyes twinkled, dancing around unseen images, impulses, and desires. Through the centuries that Jasper had lived.

"Ah," Aro smiled. "You present a very special case. I don't think I will be sending you anywhere. Perhaps, I will bring someone to you. She will arrive shortly. Goodbye, Carlisle . . . Alice."

He looked longingly after the petite vampire. Almost hungry in his fervor. And, in a swirl of black cloaks, they were gone.

"I have to call Peter," Jasper announced, as soon as the Guard had left their property. He shook Alice from his arms - she had been clinging to him with the strength of a frightened child, unwilling to go to Esme - and stepped toward the dining room. He waved off his family's attempts to stop him, to talk to him. What chance did he have that Peter and Charlotte would still be alive? One in a hundred? Or was it futile? He pulled the silver cell phone from his pocket and called his brother. The phone rang only once.

"Major," Peter greeted, "What's up?"

Jasper sighed in relief.

"Woah," Peter said. He had heard the heavy ode. "What happened?"

"I don't know how much time I have to share this, so listen carefully," Jasper began. His voice was rapid and low, teeming with urgency. "Aro came to me. Maria is dead. He is going to kill everyone associated with her. We managed to talk him into some kind of alternative punishment for me. It's . . . bizarre, to say the least."

"What the fuck?" Peter interrupted.

"Charlotte!"

Jasper heard Peter scream it through the phone.

"Come here, Char! Or pack or somethin'. I don't know. Fuck!"

Jasper could picture his brother pacing, hands in his silvery hair and a sigh forcing it's way from his lips.

"Pack," Jasper ordered, "leave and cover your tracks well. We'll meet when we can"

The scent of lavender and honey drifted on the breeze, warming the room like sunshine. It was distinctly feminine and undoubtedly young. And human, with her blood spilled across her skin. It was strong for the distance between them. Jasper breathed in the scent, momentarily distracted from his brother. There was vague familiarity, but nothing concrete.

"Human?" Carlisle muttered, "Jasper? Do you recognize . . .?"

Jasper shook his head.

"I have to go," he muttered into the phone, "stay safe, Brother."

"Good luck, Jasper," Peter said as the line went flat.

Jasper took off towards the scent, his family in his footsteps. Upstate New York was behind them as they neared the Canadian border, and the edge of their property. It was steep with jagged woods, a deadly place for a bleeding woman, especially in the icy depths of the New Year.

"Why is some random human your punishment?" Emmett asked, falling into step with his brother, "what the hell, man? Is she you singer or something?"

"Her blood does not appeal to me any more or less than another's." But Jasper's mind had been swimming with the same question. Perhaps the goal was to kill someone he loved? But there were so few humans, in the whole of his existence, that he had come to care for. Bella, as well as Renesmee and Seth, but neither of them were fully human, and this was not the scent of Bella's blood. Perhaps Aro was trying to force him to kill a vampire he loved by bringing them forth in their human state. But his family was with him, and he had just spoken to Peter and Charlotte. Did the current incarnation cease to exist if a past self appeared? Though it was impossible, Jasper's head hurt.

The scent of blood was filling his nostrils. The girl was close.

He slowed to a human pace. No need to frighten the poor girl with a monsterous display.

A woman was prone on the ground, curled around herself, scrapes at her knees and elbows. A pink calico dress. A mess of blonde curls.

"Abigail," Jasper breathed.

He was consumed by memories.


	2. Chapter 2

Jasper was leaning on the back of a wagon, kicking at a scrap piece of iron on the ground and stirring up a cloud of dust with the toe of his boot. He flashed another apologetic smile at the wagon driver and asked to borrow his pocket watch again. It was eleven forty in the morning and Jasper was waiting on some people. His Mama, his baby sister, and the pretty neighbor girl he had become so smitten with were supposed to be here to see him off. But the watch hand was ticking closer and closer to twelve, and, come noon, he was getting on that wagon and shipping off to basic training. Goodbyes or no.

He snapped the shiny watch closed again, handed it to its owner, and went back to kicking at the piece of metal.

"Well, don't you look handsome in tha' uniform?"

Jasper glanced up. A horse was coming up the dirt road, kicking up a storm. It's rider grinned down at him, her mass of blonde curls and pink calico skirts bouncing along with the horse's gait. A little girl in plaited pigtails was squirming in her lap. Jasper grinned.

"How ya doing, Posie?" he asked, lifting his baby sister off the horse. He spun her around once before setting her on the ground. The little girl giggled and wrapped her arms around her brother's legs. She muttered his name into the thick wool of his uniform. Jasper smiled at his little sister and looked back to the beautiful girl sitting side saddle on the thoroughbred. He disentangled Posie from himself and took a step closer. The young lady extended her hand to him, and he enveloped his warm, calloused hand around her delicate fingers. His other hand rested on the curve of her waist as he half guided, half lifted her off the horse. Her shoes hit the ground a few inches from Jasper's boots, their bodies were so close he could feel the warmth between them, and his hand lingered on her waist.

"Good mornin', Miss Abigail," he said. His brown eyes were dancing with humor as he held her just a little too long, and a little too close for decorum. She tilted her face towards his, her breath hitching like she was dying to kiss him. They couldn't. Not with all their nosy neighbors watching like they were hawks. Abigail breathed, "Mornin', Mr. Whitlock."

The wagon driver cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, reminding the young couple of their manners. A fit of giggles erupted from somewhere closer to the ground, and the little girl began to chant, "Jasper an' Abigail setting inna tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

It finally broke the couple apart. Abigail took a step back and laughed quietly at the ground. Jasper sighed good naturedly and ran a hand through his long, tousled hair.

"Hush, Posie," Jasper said, giving his sister a playful shove, "We ain't kissing."

Jasper rested a hand on Abigail's elbow. The desire to touch her, even in a small way, was almost overwhelming, but they had reputations to protect. She was a virtuous young lady and he was a respectable soldier. So he let go of any thoughts of ravishing her and settled himself to rest his fingers against her arm.

"Mama's not coming," Posie said, returning to her place against Jasper's legs. Her voice became muffled in the fabric. Jasper looked down at her, but could only see the light brown curls at the top of her head. He said, "That's alrigh', Posie. I'll see 'er when I come back."

"When ya coming back?" Posie murmured. Her big, doe brown eyes were looking up at him.

Jasper brushed his hand over her hair. "When the war's over."

"Five minutes, Private Whitlock," the wagon driver said.

Jasper nodded in recognition to the man and he turned back to Abigail. He could see her green eyes growing glassy with the threat of tears. He said, "You'll write me, won't ya Darlin'?"

"Of course," Abigail said. Her words were barely a breeze, and her eyes were beginning to leak. Jasper cupped her face in his hand, brushing his thumb along the soft skin of her cheekbone and wiping her tears away. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his touch. Her lips were barely brushing the edge a his palm. In half a second, he made a wish that neither his Mama, the minister, nor the town gossip were passing by, and he pressed his lips against her forehead.

Posie gasped, then giggled.

Abigail closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

"You promised, Jasper," she whispered.

He said, "You're gonna be my wife, Abigail. I swear it."

The couple stepped out of their chaste kiss, Jasper gave his baby sister one last hug, and he stepped into the wagon.

oo000oo

 _Camp near Dallas, TX_  
 _October 10, 1861_

 _My Dearest Abigail,_

 _Please accept my apologies for taking so long to write you. I arrived in Dallas nearly week previous, but have been kept up long hours for training. It has been arduous and I have learned much. I won't bore you with the specifics excpt to tell you that I have taken to it more easily than most. I know enough of horses from growing up on the ranch, and I am no stranger to hard work. Some of the men in my company are from cities and have hardly worked a day in their lives._

 _There are a few men with whom I have found common ground. Miles Johnson is a native to Dallas, and he frequently steals himself away to visit his family. He has a pregnant wife and two young children whom he misses terribly. The other, named Asa Fulton, sharecropped outside of Shreveport before the war. I told him of you, and I asked if he knew of any Childress in Shreveport. He had not, but he had heard mention of your sister's husband Bourne, being that he is one of only two doctors in town._

 _We mock the city boys behind their backs. But don't think too badly of me, Darling, because they do the same to us._

 _I wish I could take more time in my writing to you, but it is late and I must wake up before dawn. I look forward to reading your letters to me, though I have been warned that the post in unreliable so I don't know when I will receive them._

 _There is not a second I live that I do not think of you. I love you, Abigail. When this war is over and I return home, I swear we will be married. I'll build you a home and give you many children._

 _Yours Always,_  
 _Pvt. Jasper Whitlock_

oo000oo

 _48 Cedar Road, Houston, Texas_  
 _January 2, 1862_

 _To Jasper, My Love_

 _Congratulations on your promotion, Sgt. 1st Class Whitlock. Posie and I were pleased to hear of it, and she has drawn you a butterfly to celebrate. It is enclosed. I've been teaching her to write, and she is very eager to share what she has learned. Expect letters from her as well, and many more drawings._

 _I regretfully inform you that my cousin, Miss. Sallie Bourne, with whom I have been living, has passed away. Your mother, in all her grace, has offered to board me in exchange for assisting with housework and minding Posie. I've been staying in your bedroom for the present time, though Mrs. Whitlock informs me that other arrangements will be made when you return. I told her she should not fret, as we will be married by that time._

 _Life passes, day to day, and all my thoughts are of you. I wake and I think of you. I tend to the garden and do my chores and think of you. You are my last thought before I sleep. Be safe, My Love, and return to me._

 _With All My Love,_  
 _Abigail Childress_

oo000oo

 _New Orleans, LA_  
 _January 20, 1862_

 _My Dearest Abigail,_

 _I am sorry to hear of your cousin's passing._

 _I must admit that I have spent many a long nights thinking of you in my bed. I hope you find it to your liking._

 _A fortnight ago, while we were stationed in Shreveport - Fulton was pleased, he visited his mother - I was grazed by a bullet. I did not tell you previously as I did not want you to worry. I have made a complete recovery under the care of your sister's husband. He is a competent doctor and amicable man. Your sister is lovely as well._

 _Many of my company have perished, more from disease than battle wounds. I question things, My Abigail. Our methods, the cause, if any of this war is worth it. Too many of my men are gone. I trust you won't share this with anyone. My deepest secrets are yours._

 _I love you._  
 _Sgt. Maj. Jasper Whitlock_

oo000oo

Abigail tossed and turned on the straw mattress, wishing her long, heavy night gown would disappear and she could languish in the Texas heat. The handmade bed frame groaned.

A pebble smacked her window and she stirred, frowning. It was followed quickly by another, and another until she shed her quilt and walked to the edifice. The white nightgown swayed around her ankles as the dim light of the moon poured in. To Jasper's eyes, it cast her in holy light. He stood under her window next to a war-battered young horse, looking dashing in his uniform.

"Jasper," Abigail breathed. Happiness bubbled from her chest, giggles spilling out of her mouth before she could stifle them. Jasper pressed a finger to his lips, covering the grin. He motioned for her to join him and she ran, silent on her bare feet, down the stairs and out the front door. Into his waiting arms. She buried her face in the rough wool of his jacket.

"We only have the night," Jasper murmured into her hair, "I must be back at camp by dawn."

"Then we will make the most of it," Abigail said, breathless. She pressed her lips to his.

His strong arms held her close and molded their forms to one. He kissed her tenderly.

Jasper mounted his horse and lifted Abigail up after him. They rode through the night to a barn on the edge of the property, and climbed into the loft where they hay was stored. Jasper pulled a quilt from his kit, not standard military equipment, but a sign that he had prepared for their night together. He spread the blanket on a bed of hay. Abigail sat on the quilt, watching Jasper watch her as the blush of inexperience crept along her cheeks.

"I love you, Abigail," Jasper said. He cupped her delicate face in his calloused palms. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

She nodded, bright eyed. His lips met hers as he shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. It hit the ground with a heavy thud. His boots followed. Abigail fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as his hands, trembling with nerves and excitement, unlaced the back of her nightgown. The white fabric fell away from her pale skin to bunch at her hips. Jasper stared in awe of her teardrop breasts and dusty-rose nipples. Abigail's blush deepened, flowing from her cheeks her chest. Jasper unbuckled his pants, easing the growing pressure.

"Jasper . . ." Abigail said. She held her arms out to him and he met her in an embrace, her overheated skin pressing to his. Murmuring her love, she lay kisses along his cheek. He lay her back, pushing her dress off as he did until she lay bare before him. Her hair spilled around her face like a halo as her hands twitched, hovering at the apex of her thighs and across her chest, unsure if she should be modest in her nakedness.

Jasper watched every breath of movement with a look of utter devotion, and Abigail let her arms fall to her side. Her lover rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

"Are you sure?" he breathed.

His tip was resting against her stomach. She rubbed her slick thighs together.

"Yes," Abigail said, "I love you."

He pushed in slowly, letting them both grow used to the sensations. Abigail whimpered slightly as her body was stretched and Jasper groaned as her tight walls clamped down on him. They rested sweaty foreheads together, brown and green eyes meeting as they exchanged sloppy kisses. The thrusts grew in tempo until they were a rhythmic slap of skin to skin and a chorus passionate sounds.

It was not their first time together, they had made love for the first time when she was sixteen and he seventeen, a month before he had left for the war, when it has first crossed his mind to enlist. He had told her he had no intention of dying a virgin; she told him she had no intention of ever being intimate with another man.

Pressure built inside Abigail, begging to be released. Her fingers found her clit and found the rhythm of Jasper's thrusts. Until the pressure exploded. The frenetic clenching of her orgasm pushed Jasper over the edge. They clung to each other as they came.

Jasper and Abigail remained locked in each other's arms, sweaty and sated for hours after they came down, whispering promises of a future together.

oo000oo

 _48 Cedar Road Houston, Texas_  
 _July 15, 1862_

 _Jasper,_

 _My menses has not come, and I have taken ill almost every morning. Apologies for the vulgarity, but I have little time for tact. I am afraid Jasper. I believe I am pregnant._

 _Abigail_

oo000oo

 _Biloxi,_ _Mississippi_  
 _July 24, 1862_

 _My Dearest Abigail,_

 _If you are with child, then I am glad to be a father. Don't worry over your reputation - or mine - I'll pay a minister and it will be taken care of. We married that night I came to visit you. Eloped in secret because we lied about having parental consent to wed. This is a smaller crime._

 _I'll write my mother and inform her of our marriage, then you are free to tell her of your condition. If she has any doubts, she will not voice them._

 _I love you. Always. And I will love our child._

 _First Lieutenant Jasper Whitlock_

oo000oo

 _48 Cedar Road Houston, Texas_  
 _November 20, 1862_

 _Dearest Jasper,_

 _Happy Birthday, My Love, and congratulations on your promotion! Nineteen years and already a captain. I am so proud of you._

 _I have begun to show, even through my maternity corset. Our child squirms at all hours and keeps my awake, but I take it as a sign of his good health. The midwife has said he will come in late February. Take a leave, if you can, and we will name him together._

 _My condition has left me fatigued and unable to keep up with the housework. Mrs. Whitlock wants Posie to find employment, she says it's either that or sell the ranch. Profits have been abysmal since the gov'ment began commandeering the milk and meat. I told her she should wait. Posie's only nine and has little education, something that benefits a modern woman. She should sell the cattle and rent the land to the Hendersons. We can buy the livestock back when the war ends. It is the best solution. Mrs. Whitlock won't listen to me, Jasper, it will have to come from you._

 _Be safe, Love._

 _Yours Always,_  
 _Abigail Childress_

oo000oo

 _Galveston, Texas_  
 _December 29, 1862_

 _My Dearest Abigail,_

 _I only have a moment to write. I am in charge of the evacuations of Galveston. Once we drive Union forces out of the Port, there will be limited trade available. Money should improve._

 _I'll return to Houston when my work is done._

 _See you soon._

 _With love,_  
 _Maj. Jasper Whitlock_


	3. Chapter 3

A pink calico dress. A mess of blonde curls.

"Abigail," Jasper breathed. When the initial shock - like a gunshot to the gut - had finally faded, he said it louder.

"Abigail!" he called, running to her, fighting to stay at a human pace. His family hung in the shadows, out of sight. The girl's bright green eyes, wide with panic, found their way to Jasper and softened. Dimples poked through her cheeks.

He took in the sight of her: her delicate features, streaked with frozen tears; her dress long and billowy and wet with snow; and a corset hugging her distended stomach. Her hands rested there too, protectively cradling her abdomen. Jasper stopped dead in his tracks.

"Y-you're pregnant," he said.

"Yes," Abigail said. Her voice, though cracked by frigid temperatures, was the same honey as her scent. Her words came slow and steeped in confusion. "I know you got my letters."

Jasper nodded. He had begun to approach her again, holding his hand out to help her stand. She took it gratefully. Her back swayed dangerously under the excess weight as she pulled herself out of the snow. He said, "I just . . . I never saw you . . ."

He was in awe. For a moment, the briefest flash of a moment, he was the simple ranch hand-turned-soldier that had promised to marry this girl. The same man - no, boy - who, through youth and naivety, had gotten her pregnant. Who was so excited to have gotten her pregnant.

Abigail threw her arms around his neck. He tentatively cradled her. Somehow, she seemed more fragile than any other human. She had been left petite and underdeveloped by childhood illness, the same one that had claimed her parents. And the growing child in her stomach. She must be . . . God, how far along was she? When was this, for her?

Jasper heard her teeth chatter and it spurred him to action. He pulled his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She was dressed for the mild winters of Texas, not frigid Upstate New York. She clung to the fabric of his coat.

"W-why is it so cold, Jasper?" she chattered, "W-where a-are we?"

"New York," Jasper answered simply. He scooped her into his arms, having already decided that she needed a warm bed to sleep in.

"That's Union . . ." Abigail's mind was whirling. Her grip was a vice around his neck. "That's so far north."

"I know, Darlin'," Jasper said. She had said Union he had noted it. For her, the Civil War was still raging and she, and her Confederate officer fiance, were deep in enemy territory. Jasper said, "You're safe. I promise. Go to sleep. I'll carry you to the house."

He sent her a heavy dose of lethargy, hoping it would curl around her like a blanket. She yawned and murmured sleepily, "you're strong."

Jasper chuckled as she drifted into sleep. She had no idea. He carried her back to where his family was hidden in the shadows.

Carlisle pulled off his own jacket and draped it across her legs. "You can't run with her, Son. The wind chill will be too cold. Go at a human pace. Esme? Rosalie? Run ahead and prepare the guest room for her. She'll need warm clothes and blankets."

"I'll find . . . modest things," Esme muttered, glancing over the girl's victorian dress, "so she'll be more comfortable."

"Thank you, Love," Carlisle said.

The two women sprinted back to their home. Rosalie's sympathy and worry for the pregnant girl was palpable. As Emmett walked alongside his brother and Abigail, unsureness and confusion colored his actions. He reverted to what he knew: guard his family. So, he walked tight to the group, his chest puffed and his shoulders squared. Jasper was grateful they had accepted Abigail so easily. It seemed she would become a permanent fixture in their lives.

"I'll procure an ultrasound machine," Carlisle said, "I assume this child is yours?"

"Yes," Jasper said, "she was my fiance."

He turned his gift to his mate. Alice had dulled her emotions - purposefully, Jasper was sure, no one could be so impartial - and had turned her face from him. He tunneled through the walls of protection until he found her heart. She had buried grief there, her sense of loss so palpable it was as though he had already left her. And there was resignation, borne of an unconditional, forgiving Love that only wanted the best for her mate.

"Allie," he called his mate's name in a whisper, careful not to wake Abigail, "nothing is going to change between us. I promise."

"It seems like you've made a lot of promises, Jasper," Alice snapped. Her high voice, usually musical windchimes, was, for a second, sharp. But she regained her composure, breathing into the love and breathing out the words, "I'm sorry. I just mean . . . you aren't that naive. Things will change. I know you haven't made the decision to tell her about me."

"Yet," Jasper insisted. If his arms weren't full of unconscious pregnant woman, he would have held his mate. "I haven't decided anything yet. I just need time to think."

It was agonizing to travel at a human pace when Abigail's heart beat was slowing and her breath was growing shallow.

"It's happening too quickly," Carlisle muttered.

"What is?" Jasper asked.

"Hypothermia," Carlisle replied. He carefully lifted Abigail's hand, examining her deep purple nail beds and non-existant capillary refill. "It should have taken a couple hours, considering the temperature and her clothing."

"But Aro left, what, less than ten minutes ago?" Jasper said. His voice was colored by anger. There were too many things happening under the surface, where the water was too murky for him to see. It was unbelievably frustrating.

"It is curious, isn't it?" Carlisle said. He flashed Jasper a meaningful look. "She'll need more than blankets at this point. Warm compresses. One for her neck and one for her abdomen. Emmett?"

Emmett nodded and took off, duty-bound and focused.

"Jasper," Alice said weakly.

"Yes?"

"You still haven't made a decision."

Her round eyes were turned up and she was begging him through thick, dark eyelashes.

Carlisle stared straight ahead, pretending not to hear there private conversation. He would have perfected to leave them alone, but couldn't risk his now-patient's fragile condition.

"Okay," Jasper sighed. He gave Abigail an extra dose of lethargy, keeping her unconscious for their conversation. "Let's talk about it. Abigail has to stay with me - with us. That's nonnegotiable. She's pregnant with my child and alone in a world she doesn't understand."

"I know," Alice said, "I just wish this wasn't happening. It feels like more of a punishment for me than for you."

Jasper sighed. "I can see why you would feel that way."

On the surface, this was a gift horse. Jasper got to reconnect with someone he had loved and left behind. He got to meet the child he never knew. But he worried when the Greeks would come pouring from its mouth.

"Abigail. . . " Jasper looked down at her face, checking that she was still asleep. "She died. The first time this happened. The child was stillborn. She died of complications a few days later. I was still a Newborn. Maria told me, but I didn't care, not the way I should have."

Sympathy poured from his father and his mate.

"You never told me that," Alice said quietly.

Jasper said, "there are many things I feel guilty for, but this . . ."

He laughed ruefully.

"You feel guilty for not being there?" Alice guessed.

"No," he said, "that wasn't my choice. I feel guilty for not grieving her loss. Not the way she deserved. I loved her. Love her. I guess that will be my punishment: watching her die."

"You love her?" Alice almost whimpered. Venom coated her eyes, giving them an iridescent caste. Tears that would never spill. Jasper sighed. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, at the very least to not say the words that word hurt her. But they, years ago, had promised each other complete honesty.

"Yes," Jasper admitted, "we are the same as when we were turned, right? I loved Abigail then. Therefore, I always will."

"That's . . . " Alice took a shaky breath. "Logical."

"Oh, Allie," Jasper said, "I'm sorry. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

He illuminated the forest with his love for her, projecting it with all the strength that he held in his body. It faded as Alice began to smile, then laugh, then wrap her spritely arms around him. She returned the love.

The Cullen home rose from the trees: open, inviting, and, most importantly, warm. Abigail still shivered in Jasper's arms.

"Jasper?' Carlisle said, "do you know what caused the loss of the pregnancy?"

"No," Jasper said, "There were few details. The child was stillborn. Abigail took ill and died a few days later."

Carlisle assured him, "Medicine has come a long way since then. We'll do the ultrasound tomorrow. I know a obstetrician in the city. She is the best in the field. Abigail will live through this."

"Thank you, Carlisle," Jasper said.

They jogged into the house, then blurred the guest room. It was decorated in pale rose walls and sage accents, but those were almost invisible beneath the rainbow mess of blankets and stark-white towels of the warm compresses. Jasper lay Abigail on the bed. Blankets were shoved around her shaking body. Carlisle draped a warm compress over her neck and another over her swollen abdomen, drawing the blood from her limbs and into her core and into the baby. The fetal heartbeat was present, severely muffled and blurring with the mother's, but rapid.

Emmett and Alice had cleared the room, feeling awkward and out of place in a medical context. Jasper knelt by Abigail's bedside, listening carefully to every breath and heartbeat as they grew stronger. Carlisle monitored her just as closely, but with a more astute ear, shifting compresses and removing blankets as needed. Rosalie and Esme hovered around her, smoothing her hair and gazing at her stomach.

As warmed blood started flowing through her veins again, her fingertips and lips regained their pinkness and she began to stir. Her eyes blinked open and found their focus on the overhead lights. She frowned. "Are those candles? That doesn't seem safe."


	4. Chapter 4

Abigail frowned. "Are those candles? That doesn't seem safe."

Jasper chuckled lightly. "No, Darlin' they're not candles. Are you coherent? There are some things I need to explain to you."

He looked between those left in the room. Carlisle ushered himself out immediately, willing to give the pair much-desired privacy. Esme followed, pulling Rosalie along, and leaving Jasper and Abigail alone together. Not true privacy of course, Jasper was very aware of all the pairs of ears tuned to their conversation - Alice's above all, as it was her heart he needed to protect.

Abigail pushed herself up to rest against the headboard.

"Get in bed with me," she invited, a happy, contented grin on her face. It wasn't a sexual invitation, as her emotions didn't stray towards lust, but one of love and a desire for companionship.

Jasper smiled, but his gaze was at his feet. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" she asked, "we're alone. We can talk."

"Oh, Darlin'," Jasper said. He had to admit that it was a tempting offer. Her skin was soft and warm. Her presence familiar. But part of love - the practical, committed love he shared with Alice - was resisting temptations. Jasper said, "I have things I need to explain to you."

He pulled the desk chair to the edge of the bed and sat. He put his elbowed on his knees and bowed his head to his hands. 'I don't know where to begin."

"Okay," Abigail said, "why don't you start with what that is?"

She was pointing towards the ceiling, to the overhead lights, with a look of such wonder on her face. The reflection of it glinted in her eyes, making them shine.

"Well," Jasper laughed, "That is a fine place to start."

"They're pretty. Like candles, but . . . brighter."

"That's called electricity," Jasper explained, "those are light bulbs. Electricity is like . . . energy. When it flows through the metal in the bulb - the metal piece is called a filament - it metal heats up and gives off light."

"Like iron in a blacksmith's shop?" Abigail asked. Jasper nodded. "A lot like that, yes. It's an oversimplification, of course. I'll explain it in more detail later, if you'd like. For now, I want to . . . ask you something."

"Of course."

"What's the date?" Jasper asked. Abigail laughed, "Jasper, I'm supposed to be the confused one, being that I was out in the cold for so long."

"Please," he said. There was a note of seriousness in his voice. A contagious one, evidently, as the smile dropped from Abigail's face and her brows furrowed. She was pulsing worry now. "The first of January, eighteen sixty three. New Year's day. I was cookin' black eyed peas and collards - extra, 'cause you said you'd be comin' home. There's no pork due to all the rationing, so I put what was left of the lard in the peas, hopin' it would be enough to keep us healthy. Then I was in the snow and lost and scared, but I saw you, and, well, here we are. I don't know what happened."

"Don't be scared, Darlin'," Jasper said, "I will never let anything bad happen to you. Or the baby."

Abigail grinned.

"Abigail," Jasper said, "I don't know how to say this, so I'm going to be very honest with you. The year is 2018. On January first, 1863, I was riding back to Houston after evacuating a colony of women and children. Going to see you, actually, and Mama, and Posie. I came across a group of women. Assuming they were stragglers, I offered them my aid."

He paused, watching Abigail's reactions flit across her face and bloom in her heart. She was confused and apprehensive, but trusting. And she still had the innocent desire Jasper had come to associate with her asking to be held.

"Maria, the leader of the group," Jasper said, "she bit me."

Abigail recoiled, "pardon?"

"She turned me," Jasper admitted, "into a vampire. I have been a vampire for one hundred and fifty four years."

"You," she trailed off. She was searching for words. "That's why your eyes are different? Your skin?"

"Yes."

"This sounds like a novel, or those Penny Dreadfuls from a few years ago," Abigail said, "it doesn't sound real. Am I dreaming? Is this real?"

"It's real, Darlin'," he said, "I know it's a lot to process."

"Certainly is. You don't have fangs."

Jasper grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth. "I do not."

"You read 'Varney' right?" he asked, "that isn't too far off actually. The moonlight thing isn't accurate. And no fangs of course. But we can pass as human, even eat food, if we must, but it is not appealing. Fire is the only thing that will kill us. Though there aren't very many who would let themselves be emulated, so one must be dismembered first."

"That's gruesome," Abigail said. Her back her face showed disgust, but her emotions held intrigue and excitement. It bled through to her eyes. They were bright, flickering like emeralds set before fire. Her cheeks were flushed with the thrill of scandal. Just realized he had moved closer, drawn to her passion and her form. Her lips were pink and full. She was leaning towards him.

Jasper pulled back, praying that he had kept his desire contained within himself. Abigail frowned.

They sat in silence for a moment as she formulated questions. The snow piled against the window, blocking out natural light. The bulbs, despite Abigail's assessment, were dim. Someone had started the fireplace, and it served as the true source of light, casting flickering shadows over her pensive gaze.

"Why am I here?" Abigail asked. She had been trying to puzzle it out herself, but there were so many gaps in her information, so many pieces missing.

"There are laws for vampires," Jasper explained, "not many, but some. When I was younger – perhaps newer is the right phrasing – I broke those laws. This was my punishment."

"I'm a punishment?" Abigail said. Her heart cracked. Her voice cracked, "and why did you not come back for me?!"

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and she was enveloped in grief and humiliation. Another emotion came from her body, a vague, unformed sense of panic. The baby was in distress.

"No, no, no," Jasper sad. His own emotions had gone wild. He pulled Abigail from the bed and into his lap. As he smoothed her hair and rubbed her back, he whispered, "I loved you."

"Loved?" Her voice was weak.

"Love," Jasper clarified, "I didn't come back for you because Newborn vampires are wild and dangerous. I was no exception. I couldn't risk your life that way. I never would have forgiven myself had I been the one to kill you."

He wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"And you are not a punishment. It's what happened to you."

"W – what happens to me?" Abigail asked.

"Oh, Darlin'." Jasper brushed his hand over her cheek. "You didn't… you didn't survive the birth. My punishment is watching you die."

"I'm going to die?" Abigail all-but-shrieked, "In childbirth? That's only two months away! I don't want to die. I don't want – what about the baby? Does our baby live?"

"Abigail!" Jasper said. She was panicking. Her heart was racing like horses towards a panic attack. He pushed calm into her fragile body, driving out the crushing waves of hopelessness and fear. "Abigail, listen. You are not going to die."

Her heartbeat – and the faint sound of the baby's – slowed a bit.

"Had our baby been born in 1863, you would have, yes. But it won't be. You are having this baby now. Medicine has gotten so much better, and Carlisle - Carlisle, come in please - is a doctor. He will help you."

Abigail nodded along like she understood, but her eyes were still wide in fear. They darted to the door at the sound of a knock. Jasper shifted her from his lap and onto the chair. He stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder, a gentle reminder he was there, but a much less compromising position for them to be found in. This was for Abigail's benefit, as modesty was the least of Jasper's priorities.

"Come in," Jasper said.

Carlisle was calm and steady as always, and he was carrying what looked like a thick laptop. Jasper recognized it as a portable ultrasound machine, the same they had tried - to no avail - to use on Bella. Carlisle smiled kindly at Abigail and inclined his head towards her and greeted her formally, forgoing her given name for a simple 'Miss'. This was another anarchism that Jasper was grateful for, as the stiff politeness was a familiar comfort to Abigail.

She said, "Pleasure to meet you as well, Doctor . . ."

"Cullen," he said, "but please, call me Carlisle."

"You may call me Abigail."

"Thank you," Carlisle said, "I am also Jasper's adoptive father."

Her chair ground as Abigail turned to Jasper with an eyebrow raised and he nodded. Carlisle continued, "the rest of our family is downstairs, except for a few who are on their way back from Switzerland."

"Oh," she said, "that's a long trip."

"Perhaps not as long as you would think," he said, "I'm sure Jasper will introduce you to everyone in time."

Jasper nodded curtly and contemplated how he would explain aerodynamics to her. However, Abigail focus was tied to the portable ultrasound machine. It would look imposing – stark white and vaguely electrical, with a wand-like attachment - to anyone wholly unversed in medical technology. He rubbed her shoulder soothingly, and she reached her own hand to grab. Carlisle gave her reassuring smile."It's called an ultrasound. It works somewhat like a camera, except it is capable of seeing through tissue, so you will be able to see the fetus. There's also a Doppler, which magnifies the heartbeat enough for you to hear. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt you or the baby. I'll just place it on your abdomen, and I will be able to tell if the fetus developing well. I can also tell you the sex, if you would like."

"I assume my bare stomach?" Abigail got. Carlisle nodded. "You certainly don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. I can call a female colleague, but it may take some time for them to arrive."

"No," Abigail said, "I'd like to see it now."

"Very well," Carlisle said, "I'll leave you to undress. Knock when you are ready."

Carlisle left the room, abandoning the ultrasound on the desk. Jasper followed up, closing the door behind them. Both men stood with their backs to the room. Carlisle folded his arms across chest. He was characteristically calm, but trepidation lingered under the surface. Jasper's hands were clasped behind his back. As the haze Abigail's presence put around his mind cleared, thoughts of his wife came crashing to him.

"Did Alice…?" Jasper spoke at a level far below what Abigail could hear.

"She left as soon as Abigail invited you into her bed," Carlisle said.

"That wasn't sexual," Jasper said, "and I declined, anyways."

"I know, Son."

There was a rustle of fabric as Abigail's dress hit the floor. By the sounds, she lifted it from the carpet and folded it onto the chair. Then the sounds of fingers against stiff fabric– brushing and rustling – reaches them.

Jasper?" Abigail called, "will you help me with my corset?"

Carlisle turned to him. "Perhaps I should get Esme?"

"Jasper?" Abigail said again. He shook his head and muttered, "It's not like she'll be indecent."

Certainly not by the standards of today. Victorian undergarments covered more skin than many of today's outerwear. Under her slightly-yellowed corset, Abigail was wearing a chemise, a white, sparsely woven under-dress that hit her body at the mid thigh. The shoulders hung wide, revealing prominent collar bones and skin like tissue paper. She was underfed, which was to be expected. It had been wartime and winter. Under the slip, she wore drawers. Even by the standard of his youth, they were morally clear. He was the father of her child and her presumed husband. Was a bribed priest and written promise a marriage?

But it was Alice's opinion that mattered. Did the amount of skin shown matter, or was it simply the notion that he was seeing her in underclothes? It wasn't sexual. He was merely assisting her so that she could have an ultrasound. He was providing for the health of his child. It was his duty, really. And this was what he told himself.

The garments looked new, and Jasper recognized his mama's stitchwork - a strange detail to have stored in his memory, as he barely remembered her face. Every few stitches, one would be double looped. To make it stronger, his mama always said. It must have been a Christmas present.

Abigail was looking at him shyly. "Help me with my corset? It unties under my left arm. I can't reach it anymore, for my stomach."

Jasper took a few steps closer to her and began to undo the laces of the garment. Jovially, he asked her, "Who's been helpin' you? My mama?"

"No, Posie." Abigail braced her hands on his chest.

"Posie?" he asked with a disbelieving scoff.

She laughed, "Yes. She says she can't hardly wait to get her own. I told her to hold on to her youth."

Jasper pulled the corset from her body and set it on her dress in the chair. It was only then he realized just how sheer the chemise was. The outline of her body was clear through the fabric. He could see the lower curves of her teardrop-shaped breasts and her nipples the way her stomach rounded. Without the disguise, her abdomen was heavy with the pregnancy, straining her slip at the seams. Jaspers fingers brushed along it, an unconscious love and the desire to hold his unborn child.

"Two more months," Abigail said, smiling up at him, "I'd like to do the ultrasound now. Oh, I just can't wait to see him!"

"Him?" Jasper asked.

Abigail said, "it's just a feeling I have."

Jasper helped her into the bed, offering his hand and supporting her back as she maneuvered to a supine position. He invited Carlisle back into the room. Abigail had pushed her chemise up until it just covered her breasts, exposing the smooth bulge of her bare stomach.

"This may be cold," Carlisle warned as he squeezed blue-tinted ultrasound gel. Abigail jumped slightly, but giggled.

Carlisle ran the transducer across her stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

The ultrasound monitor was oriented towards Abigail, with Jasper hovering just behind, close but not touching as they waited for something to appear through the blur. The blueish-grey and unidentifiable outlines of organs were gliding across the screen as Carlisle located the fetus.

"It's moving," Abigail said. Her gaze was transfixed on the screen. "I thought it was similar to a picture."

"It is like a picture," Jasper said, "just a lot of them being taken very quickly, to show movement."

The picture landed on the perfect profile of an infant. It's tiny arms curled and uncurled.

"So," she said, looking from Jasper to Carlisle to the monitor, "that's our child?"

Her hand was resting on the top of her stomach, just above the instrument. She was buzzing with excitement, almost physically vibrating. With a small gesture, Carlisle brought their attention back to the monitor, pointing out a small white curve as it appeared from the shadows. The arc dipped into a nose, crested at the tip of it, and then dropped into a tiny mouth. Jasper forgot to breathe. Looking at the image – and it may have just been his imagination - but he could've sworn the baby's nose had the same lines as his own.

"Oh, he's beautiful," Abigail cooed. Jasper smiled at her. "You're so sure it's a boy."

"She is correct," Carlisle said, pointing to a blur on the monitor. The feet were clear, each tiny toe well defined, but the genitals was further back and blurry. Jasper had no idea how Carlisle could tell, but trusted the centuries of medical training. He was filled with a sense of joy, however antiquated, to have a male heir. A boy to raise and pass his knowledge to. He'd have to figure out where to keep a horse.

"I have a son," Jasper whispered.

Grinning, Abigail teased, "did you just realize this, Love?"

A spike of worry, like poison for the mood. Jasper's attention snapped to Carlisle, who was looking intently at the small shapes moving across the screen. He raised a finger to the corner of the monitor, just behind the baby's head.

"What is it, Carlisle?" Jasper said. Abigail had picked up on the change of atmosphere and had reached for Jasper's hand. He slipped her fingers into his and she worried her thumb over his knuckles.

Carlisle turned to them with a calming smile, though his emotions still betrayed his concern. "That is a second baby. You're having twins."

"Oh," Abigail gasped, then grinned down at her abdomen. "That explains why I'm so large."

Jasper couldn't bring himself to feign a chuckle. "There was only talk of one baby."

He dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper, cautious of Abigail's still-buoyant mood. "I visited their graves. There was only one baby born."

Carlisle nodded thoughtfully, adding this information to the narrative forming in his mind.

"Is it worrisome?" Abigail asked, "that there are two? I have never met any women with twins."

"It does arise the possibility of complications," Carlisle said, "this in combination with your small stature and lack of prenatal care makes this pregnancy high risk. Very high risk."

Abigail swallowed thickly.

"I don't say this to frighten you, but you do need to be aware of the risks."

He had scared her. Her heart rate has skyrocketed again, and the baby - babies, Jasper reminded himself - were feeling that unformed sense of doom. Jasper squeezed her hand, sending her, and their children, peace. Her heart rate quieted.

"What are the risks?" Jasper asked curtly.

"A strong chance they will be born early. Preeclampsia - high blood pressure - is more likely. Most concerning, however, is the increased risk of placental abruption. This where the placenta tears away from the uterus, effectively cutting off the blood and nutrient supply to the fetus. It would also result in massive internal bleeding for the mother."

"That sounds horrid," Abigail said. Her free hand was on her stomach, cradling it protectively.

Jasper almost wished it was an army menacing her. That, at least, he could fight and kill. It was a definite enemy to defeat. Against this abstract, internal threat, Jasper felt helpless.

"I think," Carlisle said, "it would be best to schedule a cesarean section and, for the time being, put you on modified bed rest."

"What is a . . .?"

"A cesarean section. It is a surgery to remove the babies. It's often recommended with multiples, as there is a lot that can go wrong if we wait for you to go into labor and try and give birth vaginally," Carlisle explained.

"Alright," Abigail said.

Jasper was still fitting this information into the framework that he had. She needed bed rest - what, exactly, was modified bed rest? - to be healthy. This wasn't something she could have achieved in 1863, even if she had known. There was so much work to be done. He wondered the chances he could have taken leave to care for her. Those were low, but unimportant now. And there was the matter of two children when there had only been one before. He asked, "do you think that there was placental ablation? The first time?"

"Not necessarily," Carlisle said, "it's most likely that there was some sort of trauma during the birth . . ."

He trailed off, sparing a look at Abigail, but she nodded for him to continue.

"That resulted in fetal death," he continued, "For the baby that was not born, it's corpse likely caused an infection inside your womb, which would have spread to your bloodstream. This is called a septic miscarriage. You would have died in a matter of days."

He was solemn and resigned. Abigail was scared but hopeful. Jasper was torn between the guilt of putting her in this situation and the joy of finally bearing witness to the lives he had helped create.

"But that won't happen this time," Jasper said.

Carlisle agreed, "it won't. I'll need to determine the best time schedule the c-section. They seem to be twenty-six to twenty-seven weeks along. Is that consistent with the date of conception?"

"No," Abigail said, "I'm just over seven months."

He nodded. "They're slightly small, then. That's nothing to be concerned about, as twins in the third trimester are usually slower to grow."

"What gender is the second baby?" Abigail asked. Jasper's attention flicked from her stomach to the screen. There was a clear image of their boy, his whole body prone so that his profile was clear. The second child was barely visible behind his form. As Carlisle moved the transducer, it remained just as blocked. Abigail sighed, disappointed.

"We'll try again another day," Carlisle said.

Jasper rubbed Abigail's shoulder, and she brought her hand to rest against his. Their eyes met and things felt different. Jasper hadn't spent years apart from her, years with Maria, and years with Alice. For Abigail, he imagined, this was normal. The situation strange, that was certain, but the dynamic - hands intertwined, their focus on their baby - was normal. He was her soldier come-home. She his pretty, young wife and his reason to fight.

He shook off such treasonous thoughts. What would Alice think?

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?" Carlisle asked, "I doubt we'll be able to find the second baby's, but the boy's . . ."

"Yes!" Abigail said. Her excitement fluttered like butterfly wings.

Carlisle touched a button on the machine, and a steady thumping began. The sound itself seemed small. It wasn't quiet, as it was amplified a million times, but it had a delicate edge to it. Jasper had heard it all along, and could pick up the second heartbeat now that he knew it was there, but the smile that bloomed on Abigail's face was beautiful. She had leaned closer to the machine, pressing her ear into the empty space like the extra inch would help her hear it more clearly. For the first time in her traumatic day, tears started to pool in her green eyes. Morning dew on spring grass.

"I'd like to take your blood pressure now, if that's alright?" Carlisle asked Abigail.

They had been completely taken by the lovely sound for a few minutes.

She nodded, no thought given to the method. She trusted Carlisle, Jasper realized, and that was good.

"Alright," Carlisle said, "I'll get the blood pressure cuff. You can redress."

Picking up his equipment, he left the room, and, from the cadence of his footsteps, he was moving at a human pace. Plenty of time for her and Jasper to talk, and for him to convince her to wear something more comfortable than a corset and chemise. With the accompanying glance at her stomach, he noticed the smear of blue ultrasound gel.

He was gone and back with a warm washcloth before she could take her next breath.

"Woah," she said, her eyes wide.

"It's a," Jasper ran his hand through his hair, "it's a vampire thing."

She shook her head, her disbelief clear. "Of course it is."

He took a slow step towards her to wash the gel off her abdomen, but faltered. He thought of the intimacy of that gesture and he thought of Alice, imagining her eyes brimming with venom as she turned away. He drew back, handing Abigail the cloth instead and taking a seat in the chair. She didn't miss his hesitation, and she offered nothing but a raised eyebrow. What did she assume? That he questioned the modesty of the situation? Surely she wouldn't guess that his heart had strayed from her?

Wiping the gel away, Abigail asked, "will you help me with my corset?"

"You don't have to wear that."

Abigail frowned. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Women don't typically wear them now," Jasper said, "actually, it's considered fetish-wear."

The look on her face told him that was a step too far.

"Fetish . . . wear?" she asked slowly, "what's 'fetish'?"

There was booming laughter echoing through the house. Emmett must be losing his mind. Jasper shook his head. "It's . . . sexual . . ."

"Come, Jasper," Abigail laughed, "just tell me. I'm hardly a prude."

Another round of laughter. A giggle from Abigail.

"It's when someone has an increased sexual interest in a particular, unusual thing." Jasper wanted to squirm, but kept himself composed. As nonprudish as she claimed to be - and, by victorian standards, she wasn't - he could feel her innocence chipping away.

"Like what?" She could hardly contain the smirk that pulled at her lips.

"Any number of things," he said.

"What do you like, Jasper?" she asked. Even Esme laughed at this, though she tried to stifle it.

With nervous energy, he ran a hand over his hair. "I don't have fetishes. And I would like to change topics."

"Alright," Abigail said, dropping her coy act, "if I don't wear a corset, the what should I wear?"

Jasper helped her from the bed. As she stood, her chemise fell back into place. It looked like a smock dress - a term he swore he only knew because of Alice - so she could simply wear that. But he could imagine the reproachful look Abigail would give him at that suggestion.

"Perhaps I should get someone else?" Jasper said.

Looking at the vast closet, he was at a loss. There were long dresses, floor-length skirts, and blouses of every color, though most hovered between lilac and dusty rose. Jasper had to give credit to whomever had assemble this, as they had guessed her favorite colors and the shades that best complimented the natural blush of her cheeks.

"Is it so hard to give your opinion?" Abigail huffed, but her expression was teasing.

"I like you in pink."

He liked the pale color of the skirt she had worn the day she saw him off to war. It was the same shade that colored her cheeks now.

Abigail smiled. "Pink it is."

Thoughtfully, she ran her hand along the fabrics, before finally selecting a garment and holding it up to herself. It was short sleeved, flowing, and entirely too big for her tiny frame. This one must have been Rosalie's, though nothing she had ever worn. Alice's clothes would have fit Abigail's body better, with the definite exception of her distended abdomen. But seeing his — his what, his ex? Fiancé? Seeing Abigail in his wife's clothing was not something he was prepared for. Or could ever be prepared for.

Abigail slipped the dress over her head and wriggled into it. Jasper had stepped closer and zipped it before the request could leave her lips. It wasn't quite as large as it had originally appeared, though he had expected it to cover her like a tent.

"No corset," Abigail laughed, "if your Mama could see me now, she'd have a fit."

"Yes, Ma'am, she would," Jasper said.

As a morose sense came over he, Abigail frowned. "Do you miss them, Jasper? Your Mama and Posie?"

And the unspoken question: 'did you miss me?'

"I did," Jasper said slowly, "at first. But, as time went on, I realized they had done just fine without me. They both lived long, fulfilling lives. Posie grew up and married a banker. They moved to the city and had a few children."

"She would love that," Abigail said softly, "all that excitement."

"Even Mama. After the war, she bought back all the livestock and ended up successful."

"That's good." There were tears in her eyes. Jasper wiped them away. She was content, glad to see they had been happy, but this was a moment of grief. Abigail wrapped her arms tight around his waist and buried her face in his chest. The contentedness shifted to confusion and sadness, like a dam broke with the hug and she was finally allowing herself to feel the events of the day.

Jasper hugged Abigail tightly. "It's okay, Darlin'. I know it's a lot to take in."

She sobbed against him, her fragile body shaking.

"Your gonna be just fine," he soothed, "we're gonna be just fine. Why don't we take a break for today, huh? You can lay down and get some rest. I'll find you somethin' to read. Maybe somethin' to eat too? Are you hungry?"

Abigail nodded, wiping at the tears wetting her cheeks and filling her reddened eyes. They had stopped falling, and the desperate gasps had ceased at Jasper's influence. He walked her to the bed and lifted her in, making sure the blankets were snug around her body and she was comfortably resting on the pillows.

"I'll be back," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Alright." Her voice was shaky.

Jasper walked downstairs to be greeted by the expectant faces of his family. Carlisle had abandoned the medical bag at the bottom of their stairs, having heard Jasper suggest a break. He was thumbing through a obstetrics journal. Rosalie and Emmett sat on the couch, both amused and excited — Emmett, because this was his permanent state and Rosalie because she knew there would soon be two new babies to fawn over. They were staring at a television without seeing it. Esme was at Jasper's side before his feet had hit the landing.

"What should I make for her?" Esme said. She was nervous, eager to impress.

"Something simple," Jasper said, "vegetables. Bread. Something like that."

"I have that leek and potato soup Mrs. Winter brought us," Esme muttered, buzzing off to the kitchen, "that's good. And it will warm her up."

"Sounds lovely, Mom," Jasper said. It sounded disgusting, but Abigail would enjoy it. And the heat would be good for her.

He crossed the foyer to the library, searching through books until he found a few Abigail would enjoy. One on the history of women's suffrage, spanning from 1850 to 1920. Abigail would be overjoyed at this news, and it shouldn't leave many gaps to fill in her history knowledge. The other was a fiction book, a romance that should prove light reading.

He pulled the books from the shelf and tucked them under his arm, just in time for Esme to hand him a tray of soup, along with warmed bread and ice water. The tray was fully furnished with silverware and napkins, perhaps more than necessary, but Abigail would be balancing a tray on quite the round surface.

"I hope she likes it," Esme worried.

Setting the books to the side of the tray, Jasper said, "of course she will."

He took a step towards the stairs.

"Alice is angry with you," Rosalie said. Her tone was matter of fact and she was staring at a tiny chip in her manicure, but her emotions tended towards worry. Esme and Carlisle had turned their attention to Rosalie, silently admonishing her with their stern glares.

"Come on, Rose," Emmett sighed, "let 'em work it out themselves."

"I know she is," Jasper sighed. And he knew where she would be: out in the woods, sulking and waiting for him to make a decision she could see. "I'll talk to her once Abigail's settled."

He blurred up the stairs before anyone could protest, or Rosalie could say something that would actually anger him. As he opened the door to Abigail's room, her face lit up. The tears had completely dried, leaving her eyes just as bright as ever.

"What did you bring me?" she asked, sitting straighter against the headboard. Jasper slid the tray over her lap, making sure it was steady before pulling away. Her attention was first in the books, momentarily passing over the steaming food. The romance was on top, and she skimmed the cover and synopsis.

"This is a nice feature," she said, tapping the back of the book, "knowing what the novel is about."

Jasper nodded.

Her eyes caught the title of the second book and a smile sprung onto her face. She held the book up for him to see.

"Truly?" she asked, "Oh, I can't wait to vote! Though I should learn about modern politics first. I'm sure so much has changed. Has a woman been president yet? Can they even campaign?"

"Relax, Darlin'," Jasper said. He was smiling at her. Passion was the best emotion to feel second-hand. First hand, however, was the feeling of being loved. Jasper experienced both in this moment, as Abigail grabbed his hands with her own, and it was intoxicating. That was the only explanation he had for the next thing he felt. The desire to kiss her was so strong, almost overpowering.

Jasper made a hasty exit, breaking her hold on him and wishing her well before taking off down the stairs. He was at the treeline, the house near a mile away before he stopped. His family had been shocked as he past, the expressions so clear on their faces he hadn't needed his gift, and he felt a flash of horror as he wondered if he had projected his emotional state. What would they have experienced? Need? Then confusion and guilt? Panic as he realized he had almost crossed a line? He needed to speak to Alice. Immediately.


	6. Chapter 6

Jasper ducked through the trees, following Alice's familiar scent: a feminine floral with the mineral bite of a shallow, bubbling spring. Her sadness was thick in the air and she had left clear footprints in the snow, so he found her quickly, perched on a low-hanging limb with her bare feet dipped in a dark pond. Her hair had come unstyled in the weather and now hung limp over her downcast eyes. Backlit by the rising moon, she had an ethereal glow.

"Hey Jazz," her high voice called. It was weakened by emotion and she did not look at him. There were birds singing melancholy songs in the distance and the faint odors of the Volturi still threatened the air.

"Hello Allie."

It was silly, to stand at such a great distance, but they did, her never moving from the tree and him hundreds of yards away. Intimacy, once as real and tangible as two lovers whispering together in the night, had crumbled.

"Did you tell her?" Alice asked.

Jasper thought back to the expression on Abigail's face, the wonder alight in her eyes and excitement flushed in her cheeks. "Yes, I told her."

"And how did she take it?" Alice flickered hope, finally greeting him with venom-filled eyes. It was just like he had pictured: heartbreaking, shimmering gold set in a defeated expression. At the question, Jasper raised an eyebrow - this a silent inquiry of his own. Alice sighed, "I still can't see her, or your child. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Darlin'," Jasper cooed, taking a couple steps closer to his wife. Branches cracked under his feet; he was walking slowly. "There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault."

She offered nothing but a subtle shake of her head and the bitter half of a laugh. Jasper frowned. Alice would let this burden crush her tiny body if unchecked. The self imposed pressure of predicting every move and breath of every family member was a boulder. It might be eased with a bit of lightness: good news.

"There are two of them," Jasper said, gliding across the forest floor and leaping to the adjacent tree branch. He took Alice's hand in his own - the one not tapping holes into the wood with black stiletto nails. Jasper continued excitedly, "there are two babies. One is a boy, but Carlisle couldn't see the other clearly. They're healthy. Their heartbeats are strong."

Alice grinned, and Jasper nearly sighed with relief. His pleasure was mounting. They were rebuilding. Piece by piece.

She said, "I'm happy for you. Truly. Even though this is unconventional and might end badly - "

Jasper glanced at the ground.

"- they are my step children and I want the best for them. Oh, a baby boy, how exciting!" Alice clapped her hands as she finished.

Jasper was nearly caught by the facade. Her buoyant voice and chipper demeanor was almost convincing enough that he could let himself believe her words were the truth. There were some small truths: they were her step children, this was unconventional, and some part of her was happy for him. But the more dominant part was apprehensive, even afraid. Jasper rubbed her back.

"You didn't answer my question," Alice teased, bumping his shoulder with her bony elbow.

Jasper raised an eyebrow. "Question?"

"How did Abigail take it?"

"Well," Jasper said, "very well."

Alice was flooded with confusion. "She did?"

"Yes," Jasper said. His own bewilderment mixed with hers. What reaction did Alice expect? She didn't know Abigail well enough to have made such a strong assumption. Voice laden with suspicion, he continued, "as well as anyone would take news of the preternatural. For all she's been through, she is coping remarkably well."

He glistened with pride that Abigail was strong enough - even in her current, very pregnant state - to deal with such extreme change.

"Oh," Alice gasped. She shut her mouth tightly, her lips pressing into a thin line, as she turned away. Her hand wrenched out from under his and anger flashed inside of her: bright white and scorching. Jasper faltered at her sudden change in mood. Intimacy had been torn down in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"That wasn't what I meant," she snapped.

As her words hit him, Jasper felt small and stupid, freshly endowed with the knowledge that he had caused his mate pain - and he had been so ignorantly happy about it! If Alice had not been asking how Abigail had taken the news of his vampirism, the she must have been asking how Abigail had taken the news of him being mated. Jasper had all-but-admitted that he had forgotten his wife.

Alice sneered - an angry mask for the hurt inside - saying, "I take it you didn't tell her about me. Do you think you can have us both? Because you can't! You have to choose, Jasper. Her or me."

Her breath poked between words as ragged gasps.

Jasper shook his head hard, each moment brimming with emotion. "You, Alice. I will always choose you."

His arms were immediately around her, crushing her to his chest, into the one place he could protect her from any physical threat and from the challenges of his own ignorance.

"I love you," he said, shoving the feeling at her, almost clumsily in his own emotional state.

Alice sobbed and buried her face in her hands, "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I know you love me, and I don't know what I was thinking. I love you too. So much. I just - "

She choked on another cry.

"I feel like your mistress."

Alice forced herself to laugh. "Silly right? Because I'm your wife and just because she's pregnant, that doesn't mean anything. If anything, she's your mistress, and even that's silly because I know you wouldn't have sex with her."

She let out a frantic giggle, "at least not again. Right, Jasper?"

"Yes, Allie," he whispered into her hair. Something deep inside himself protested at her words. It was the young, naive Private - Jasper pictured the corporeal form: deep-set brown eyes, tanned skin, and teeming with ambition - screaming out at this stranger insulting _his_ Abigail. This young Jasper took particular offence at the insinuation that Abigail could ever be something as dirty as a mistress. And that he could ever sully his honor by taking one.

"I love you," Alice whispered again, melting into the hug. She was calming down, soothing at his touch. He reaffirmed his grip on her, kissing her damp hair. "Love you too."

They held each other as the moon rose higher in the sky, the daytime songs of jays gave way to the cooing of owls, and the nighttime predators howled.

"Hey," Jasper said, pulling back slightly to admire her face, "I'm going to hunt now. I need to stay well fed to be around Abigail. Would you like to join me?"

He had a sick hope she would refuse. While he loved spending time with her, he needed to get his head on straight. Twice in just the last hour, he had lost the rigid control he had on his emotions. The control he needed to have to keep from casting the whole household into a depression when he was low, or a manic state if he was high.

Alice frowned, her eyes the lightest shade of gold. "No. I just ate and I hate the feeling overfeeding."

"Of course," Jasper said placatingly, "why don't you go back to the house? Esme is quite worried about you. I'll be back shortly."

"All right," Alice said, untwining herself from his arms, sliding her delicate fingers over his biceps and forearms until her hands gripped his and she squeezed. They broke apart with a smile and she blurred in the direction of the house.

Jasper dropped into a low crouch, his mind immediately giving over to the hunt. Blood was thick in the air, the scent heavy and heady. This was a sure sign an animal was actively bleeding - moose, by the deep keening that was just audible over the wind. Jasper pushed his senses further into the forest; if a moose was dying, a predator was responsible. And that would make a much better meal. He was rewarded with the intoxicating perfume of black bear. He blurred through the trees after it.

Now that his body was moving in perfect accordance with nature, absent of conscious thought, Jasper could dwell on his situation. As inky fur came into view, he pondered how to tell Abigail of his relationship with Alice. Perched on a boulder, Jasper studied every twitch of the bears muscles as they slid under his fur. He resigned to tell her. It would preserve - perhaps even save - his relationship with Alice. She was his mate and his wife and should be his priority. He flew onto the back of the beast, wrestling it's hulking frame to the ground. Memories of racing hearts and fetal distress plagued his mind - both byproducts of Abigail's anxiety. The young Private longed to calm and care for his Love.

Did he embrace the man inside or yield to the vampire? The man was duty-bound, God-fearing, and moral to a fault. A kinder, gentler version of himself. Perhaps a better candidate for matters of the heart. However, the vampire was experienced, both in life and in emotion. He had the years behind him to make a strong and informed decision. Jasper sank his teeth into the bear's jugular, and, as the blood poured into his mouth, he decided the vampire had won. He would tell Abigail that he had moved on from her, whatever the consequences might be.

Satisfied, both in thirst and in thought, he returned to the house.

Alice had arrived long before him, her scent already a little stale as he ascended the porch steps. As he opened the door, he saw most of his family had scattered to their various spaces. Carlisle was in his study and Emmett was playing video games. Alice was sitting quietly in their shared room, likely engrossed in a fashion magazine. Esme and Rosalie sat on the couch, and, to Jasper's surprise, Abigail was sandwiched between them.

"Abigail," Jasper greeted her, pulling his coat from his shoulders and hanging it on the rack, "I thought you'd be asleep. It's almost two."

"It was only mid afternoon in . . ." She giggled, unsure of phrasing. "In Houston? In 1863? Before, perhaps?"

Jasper laughed. "We'll go with 'in Houston'."

"Sure," Abigail said. She rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, and Jasper's thoughts drifted to his twins. And to the burden of what he had to tell her. Pushing those things - temporarily, he swore to Alice - from his mind, he greeted Esme and Rosalie. Both smiled in return.

"Edward, Bella, and Nessie are coming home," Esme announced, "and Jacob, Seth, and Leah are visiting. They'll all arrive in the next few days."

There was a slight spike in Abigail's worry, then the corresponding increase in the twin's heartbeat. It didn't show on her face, the sunny expression never wavering. Though she was a generally social person and always amicable to those in front of her, she was easily over-faced in large crowds.

Esme's eyes darted between them, ever perceptive, and she added, "perhaps Abigail would like to stay in the cottage? She could have some privacy, and it's a bit more permanent than our guest room."

"Permanent?" Abigail gasped. Then she remembered her manners. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's been lovely stayin' here and you've been so hospitable, Esme. This just seems so much like a dream. I keep expectin' to wake up in my bed in Texas."

"You're very sweet," Esme said, "but there's no need to apologize. This is a very unusual situation you've been put into. You couldn't be handling it any better."

"Thank you," Abigail said, a faint pink creeping across her cheeks. "Now, what is this cottage?"

Rosalie answered, "there's a small cottage on the edge of the property. It's fully furnished. We have a few outbuildings that we use whenever some of us feel we need . . . private time. I could show you tonight, if you would like? It's a few miles away, so one of us would have to run you there. Jasper?"

"Of course," Jasper answered automatically, "you'll need a coat, Abigail."

He pulled his own from the rack and held it out to her. She rose unsteadily, swaying under the enormous weight of her stomach. Rosalie and Esme helped her upright. To the music of Abigail's giggles, Jasper wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and lifted her into his arms. He grinned down at her as she asked, "will you stay with me tonight?"

Her wide, innocent eyes begged him to say yes, but he only bit his lip.

"It will be frightening," Abigail whispered, "to sleep out there on my own. Nice to have my own space, of course, but the first night . . . "

She was anxious already, though he suspected it was not the dark that was pricking her fear. With the full knowledge his wife was listening, and the pressure of Abigail's emotions, Jasper nearly choked on his words, "I - I can't."

He could not bring himself to tell her why, not until they had a moment of privacy.

"Oh," Esme gently interrupted, laying a hand on Abigail's arm, "I'll stay with you."

"Thank you," Abigail breathed. Jasper could feel her disappointment. There was a haughty sense of relief from upstairs.

Rosalie stood, announcing her intent to bring various clothes and pajamas for Abigail. She blurred up the stairs, shouting over her shoulder that she would meet them there. At that, Esme opened the door for Jasper, who carried Abigail. She had relaxed in his arms, resting her head on his chest. His touch alone was drug-like, but, with the added influence of his gift, she was perfectly at peace.

She was asleep before they had made it a mile.


	7. Chapter 7

The sky seemed as though it had fallen to earth in Rochester; the gray clouds drooped to touch the tops of buildings. A light mist covered everything, gathering into droplets on Jasper and Carlisle's cool skin. Walking side by side, they looked like brothers - both blond and only three years separating them. They made their way from Highland Hospital to Strong Memorial, having already toured two maternity wards previously. All were largely the same: painted in calming blues and teeming with medical technology that Abigail would hate.

"There's no chance of having a midwife and a home birth?" Jasper asked, remembering the incessantly beeping monitors. He knew the impossibility of his statement. Carlisle's sympathies spiked as he shook his head. "It's not wise. She can have a midwife at the hospital, if she wishes. It's the access to medical equipment and a surgical theater, however, that is invaluable."

"I understand," Jasper said solemnly, "I wish she could be here to look for herself, but - "

"She's too weak to travel frequently," Carlisle finished. They glanced left and right for oncoming traffic before stepping out into the street. Jasper added, "and all this new technology would be overwhelming. I should take her into the town first, let her acclimate."

Carlisle reached the hospital first, and he opened the door for Jasper. They were met with the blinding fluorescents of the lobby, made sharper by the stark white of the walls. Jasper held his breath, then let it slow-drip through his teeth as he scoured the immediate area for blood. There was none to be found. Every surface was pristine: white, powdered rubber, or stainless steel. Resuming normal breath, Jasper nixed this hospital. It lacked any of the warmth the other wards had provided in the form of flowers, paintings, and friendly smiles.

"The wolves should be arriving at the house any minute," Carlisle said conversationally, though Jasper knew he had sensed the decision made. "I've asked Esme to call when they do. We'll head home then."

"Alright," Jasper agreed. He pushed the elevator button, wondering if the fourth floor was any improvement on the unwelcoming lobby. "Rose and Em won't be back for a while, will they? I was hoping to play soccer, and Alice said there's a storm coming tonight."

The elevator doors closed behind them. Carlisle shook his head. "Edward's flight was delayed, so Rosalie and Emmett are stuck at the airport until they arrive. The game will have to wait."

"Shame," Jasper muttered.

Carlisle's phone buzzed in his pocket, alive with the standard ringtone.

"Ah, that will be Esme." He pulled the device from his pocket, sparing less than a glance at the name before greeting her. "Hello, Darling."

"Oh, Carlisle," Esme sobbed, "you must come back quickly! Something has happened . . ."

The elevator was moving like a glacier. Jasper's fingers twitched towards the buttons, fighting the urge to stop the lift and pry the doors open, rather than wait for it to reach the floor. He did this because it was impractical. Even if he shaved a few moments off the escape from the elevator, he would still be forced to run at a human pace through the Rochester streets. He fought the urge to rip the phone from Carlisle's hand and interrogate Esme for himself. This, he did because it would be disrespectful, and his mind wasn't so clouded by rage that he had forgotten his manners.

"What's happened?" Carlisle asked, still perfectly calm. "Has Abigail . . . ?"

"No, no," Esme interrupted, "Abigail is fine."

Jasper might have cried with relief. He stilled his twitching fingers.

Voice still frantic, Esme explained, "Jacob and the Clearwaters are here. They crossed by the cottage, and . . . and they smelled a vampire."

There was a dent in the steel wall of the elevator. Jasper couldn't remember how it had gotten there, but the red haze in his vision and the ghost of a punch in his knuckles told him it had been his doing. Carlisle lay a steadying hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Did they recognize the scent? Do you?" his father asked. Jasper didn't need to hear the reply; he understood it was a foreign vampire that had come so close to Abigail and his unborn children. Esme replied, "It was in the cottage, in her bedroom. They were in her room while she slept! Oh, I'm so sorry! Alice and I had gone to the house to receive Jacob. I never should have left her alone."

There was a gasp of remorse through the receiver, too high pitched to be his mother's voice, though it was her who spoke once more. "Alice is beside herself. She's so frustrated that she didn't see them coming."

Furious as he may be, Jasper did not have it in himself to blame Esme or Alice for this folly. He, experienced soldier and supposedly brilliant strategist, should have understood the need for a guard.

"It's alright, Love," Carlisle soothed, "we shouldn't have all left at the same time."

Damn, if that was not true.

"The wolves have turned, and are standing guard around the cottage. I'm inside with Abigail. She's shaken, but okay," Esme said, "I don't think she fully understands what has happened. How could she? But she is asking for Jasper."

Jasper closed his eyes, the pain of it hitting his chest like a punch. She needed him, was asking for him, and he was not there. The elevator doors slid open and he ran - barely holding himself to a human pace - to the stairs, burst through the door, and flew back to the lobby. He was driven by the memory of Abigail's frantic heartbeat and the tiny flutterings of the twins'. Abandoning the car, and it's traffic-hindered pace for his maximum speed of 120 miles per hour. he ducked and dodged through the trees with Carlisle at his heels. He did not slow or waver until he found Abigail's scent, like sunshine through the low hanging clouds.

Jasper flew into the cottage, ignoring the wolves, his mother, and even his own mate. He took Abigail into his arms without a second thought, burying his face in her blonde curls as her heartbeat calmed. His left hand crushed her body to his, but his right lingered on her lower abdomen. He hoped to catch fetal movement, however slight.

"Come on, come on," he murmured lowly. It would sound like nothing more than a faint hum to Abigail's ears.

He was rewarded. The closest baby - the boy - stirred at his cold touch, a tiny foot straining against its cocoon. A sigh passed his lips. Though he could hear the heartbeats of his children as they fluttered like hummingbird wings, this second assurance was welcome.

With supernatural speed, he shifted them to the couch - a soft suede in taupe. Abigail's gasp of surprise bubbled into a giggle. Setting her next to him, Jasper walked the line - perhaps 'stumbled' was a better term - between comforting her and keeping her at arm's length. He was equally mindful of Abigail's feelings and Alice's watchful eye. The result was an awkward, and somewhat chilly, half-embrace.

"I don't understand," Abigail said slowly, "what happened. There was another vampire? A . . . bad one?"

Turning his face to the sky, Jasper tasted the air. All he could detect was Abigail's blood, warm and fresh like springtime, and the vile odor of the wolves outside. Their musk had completely obscured whomever was here.

"Yes," Jasper said, "there was another vampire here, one that is not a friend to us. I'm surprised that they didn't hurt you. Abigail, I'm so sorry I left you unprotected. That will never happen again."

He felt Esme flinch behind him, and he felt Alice's guilt flash white hot, but his concern was devoted to Abigail, to their unborn children and the terror on her face. He squeezed her hand and washed her in peace. Her features loosened to a soft smile, and he found his touch was resting again against her distended stomach.

Jasper said, "The wolves -"

"Wolves?" Abigail gasped, her heart making another little jump.

"Yes, there are shapeshifters," Jasper explained, "they exist to protect humans. They are friends to us. Did you meet them in their human form? Jacob, Seth, and Leah?"

He could practically see her eyes swimming with the memory of three russet-tanned and ever-youthful faces. Her emotions fluxed between confusion and wonder, and he imagined her fitting their features onto a wolf's face. Uninfluenced by modern horror movies, he wondered what images would have invaded her thoughts. Coyotes were more common in Texas than wolves. They would be more familiar to her and would almost make a better facsimile to the Quileutes. Particularly Seth, Jasper thought, as he considered a coyote's small, impish face.

"For a moment . . ." Abigail said dreamily.

"Jasper," Carlisle called. Jasper's head whipped to face his father. Carlisle was striding through the door, moving with purpose. He said, "I couldn't pick up the scent, but I spoke to Jacob. There were two vampires. He said they headed east, back towards Rochester."

"I will stay inside with Abigail," Jasper ordered, "You, Alice, Esme, and Jacob fan out in case whoever it was decides to come back. Have Seth and Leah track the scent as far as they are able."

He was caught by the sudden strangeness of giving orders to his father. Though Carlisle had graciously received them, Jasper resolved to be more gentle with his words in the future. With the threat to his children's life, he had slipped too easily into the role of commander. This didn't trouble him, however, as he would be whatever his children needed him to be. But it did make him long for his best, most loyal soldiers. And his closest friends. Peter and Charlotte. He wondered after, and prayed for, their safety.

Carlisle nodded curtly and left, taking Esme by the elbow and guiding her out.

Alice grimaced. Her glare was darting between Jasper's face, set with determination; Abigail's huddled posture, oriented towards Jasper as she was deeply unsettled; and the large, scarred hand that was resting on Abigail's stomach. Alice froze there, on that one point of contact between her mate and another woman. Her jealousy flared and Jasper shot her an admonishing look.

Alice pressed her luck against his brewing temper. With feigned innocence, she asked, "isn't there something you would like to tell Abigail?"

Jasper scowled. Did she not have perspective? Did she not see that this was a horrid time?

Abigail labored to turn her torso to him, the question written in her expression. Forcing a gentle smile onto his face - steeping himself in Abigail's trusting emotions aided his farce - he said, "it's nothin', Darlin'. Nothin' that can't wait."

His words were directed to his mate as much as they were directed to Abigail. _It. Could. Wait._

Of all the times one could pick to break a woman's heart, could there be any more brutal than at a time where her physical well being was threatened as well? It was the epitome of adding insult to injury. And to force her to spend the immediate future trapped in a house with the man who had done it? That would be cruelty, plain and simple. If Alice wasn't so blinded by jealousy, she would see this too.

Huffing, Alice turned on her heel and stalked out the front door.


	8. Chapter 8

The night - and it's fruitless search - gave way to a crimson sunrise. As the red light stained every surface of the cottage's ivory decor, Jasper sighed to himself, "red sky at morning . . ."

Abigail dozed peacefully in the next room, having fallen asleep on his shoulder in the night. Her curls had spilled over his chest as Jasper carried her to the bedroom. As he walked, he cradled her body closer to himself than he would ever admit. Her face - youthful and untroubled in her sleep, her full lips slightly parted - was inches from his, and his expression was soft. He lay Abigail on the cream comforter, covering her with a soft, knitted blanket. He turned to go, but his fingertips dragged longingly across her round stomach. The babies' heartbeats would be almost imperceptible from the sitting room, but he forced himself to give her privacy.

The delicate whispers of snowfall were interrupted by the crunch of boots.

"Hey, Uncle Jasper!"

Renesmee's chirp pulled Jasper out of his memory and brought a smile to his face. His niece's exponential growth had slowed, and she had been hovering around thirteen for the better part of a year. Grinning and buzzing with curiosity, Renesmee tried to peer around him and into the bedroom.

"I want to meet Abigail," Renesmee said, "do you think she'll like me?"

Jasper lifted a finger to his lips, gently shushing her.

"Abigail's asleep," he explained, "be careful not to wake her. But I'm sure she will love you, Nessie. Have you ever met anyone who hasn't?"

She replied in a whisper. "Nope. Mom said that Abigail hasn't seen a lot of the world. I picked out some memories of Switzerland I would like to show her. There is a pretty cathedral in Geneva -"

"Nessie," Edward called, appearing behind his daughter, looking unkempt and a little worse for wear. He carried a suitcase in one hand, a duffle bag in the other, and a purple backpack slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were pushed to uneven lengths and one cuff was unbuttoned. He said, "Go find your mother. She's waiting at the house for you."

"Is Jacob there?" Renesmee asked. Her syrup-colored eyes sparkled as she bounced in place.

Edward smiled indulgently. "Perhaps."

Nessie squealed and darted towards the house. The handmade bracelet Jacob had given her so many years ago, bounced against her wrist as she ran. As his heavy eyes watched her go, Edward let the bags fall at the doorway and sighed. He walked to the couch, dropping himself next to Jasper. His emotions were tinged with apprehension and determination, and the years had taught Jasper what this meant: Edward had read something in someone's mind that needed discussing. Jasper grimaced. He would be told to go back to Alice. Since Jasper had heard of Abigail's strange visitor, he had neglected his mate. He did not know where she was at the moment. The house, perhaps? Still tracking the alien scent? Edward would tell him to find her, but the thought of leaving his children unguarded - not to mention the woman carrying them - was petrifying.

"You're wrong." Edward interrupted Jasper's thoughts. "Though there is something to be said about that."

Edward impaled his brother with a pointed look. Jasper flinched. He knew he should be with Alice. But the nagging voice in his mind kept insisting, ' _but the babies!'_

"I have a theory about the . . . visitor," Edward began. He rubbed the dark circles under his pitch-colored eyes. It had been far too long since he hunted, and the plane ride would have tested his self-control.

"Did you find the scent?" Jasper asked, "do you recognize it?"

Edward said, "no, but when I was in Volterra -"

The ghost of an old pain crossed Edward's face. Jasper did not need telepathy to see the images filling his mind: Rosalie's voice - too casual, even teasing - telling him that Bella was dead; the prison of a plane that would have carried him to Italy, with throngs of tired, faceless humans; Aro's wicked smile as Edward's last wish was refused.

The thought of permanent separation from a mate - from Alice - was incredibly painful. Unthinkably painful. It made his arms ache with the burden of her absence.

Edward continued, "there was a woman who lived with them, a member of the guard named Chelsea. She has the power to strengthen or to weaken relationships."

"You think that she strengthened my bond to Abigail?" Jasper asked. It had become increasingly difficult to leave her side, even this distance - mere yards - seemed too great. Her heartbeat was constant in the back of his mind, a steady thump at sixty three beats per minute. He had counted so many times. The twins's hearts, muted by the protection of Abigail's womb, were light flutters. The three of them were content. Safe and content.

"No," Edward said. His gaze had drifted to the partially closed door, behind which Abigail slept. "I read it in Aro's thoughts: she cannot effect a mate-bond. I'm not certain, of course, but I believe that means she could not strengthen another romantic relationship, as it would be in competition with, and detract from, a mate-bond."

"It is not a -" Jasper's voice caught in his throat as his mind finally outpaced his rebuttal. Would it be right to say that he did not have a romantic bond to her? He had certainly never thought of it in those terms. When his eyes were still brown and his body was still warmed by life, she had simply been his other half. The day he had first met Abigail, when he was thirteen years of age, he had run back to his house to tell his Momma he had found the girl he would marry. She had boxed his ears, of course, and told him he was being foolish, but the feeling of inevitable union never left.

That young and naive part of him had died one hundred and fifty five years ago. To the man he was now, with scarred flesh and veins of venom, Alice was his perfect other half. His mate.

"Perhaps that is an oversimplification?" Edward offered. Jasper nodded, and allowed his brother to continue with no further argument. Edward said, "I believe Chelsea strengthened the bond between you and your children. To make it all the more painful when -"

" _If_ ," Jasper barked. He reminded himself that, with modern medicine, nothing is written in stone. Abigail and their children could live long, full lives.

"If," Edward amended, "they don't survive."

"They will survive," Jasper said. His voice, though it suffered in volume, had not lost any determination. Edward nodded solemnly. "We will do everything we can. All of us."

Jasper didn't form words, but let the feelings of thanks wash over him and seep into the atmosphere. Edward smiled his acknowledgment. The moment was brief, and their focus returned to more pressing issues.

"There were two scents," Jasper said, "perhaps Chelsea brought a guard? Or a mate?"

"I don't know if she is mated. It's certainly -"

Abigail stirred in the next room, a soft groan passing through her lips. Her emotions floated above her movements, still light in her semi conscious state. The weight of the previous days events had not hit her, only the comfort and safety of a warm bed. She muttered Jasper's name, and he stood as if it was an order. In an instant, he was crouched at her bedside. He breathed, "good morning, Abigail."

"Jasper," she sighed, blinking sleep from her eyes. "You stayed."

"Of course," Jasper said. It was his duty and his pleasure.

Abigail traced her fingers along her stomach sleepily. Around her navel, she paused and pressed her palm flat to the blush-colored fabric. It rose and fell in subtle waves under her touch. Abigail asked, "Is it still early?"

Jasper lay his palm just below hers, feeling the twist and turns of his son. "It's half past six. Do they always move this much in the morning?"

"Yes," Abigail giggled, "they rouse me at dawn near every day. I find it comforting, as that means they are strong."

Jasper lifted his gaze to meet hers and they both grinned.

Edward knocked softly on the half-opened door. Abigail jumped and nervous eyes flicked towards the opening, but Jasper soothed her, both with emotion and with words. "It's alright, Darlin'. It's just my brother."

"Apologies," Edward muttered automatically.

"Oh," Abigail sighed. The smile returned to her face - the sunshine itself, Jasper was sure - and she turned to Edward. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," Edward replied, "I'm sorry to intrude, but, Jasper? We should finish . . ."

"Of course," Jasper said, rising to his full height, "outside."

He refused to worry Abigail over speculations, and was content to let her stay safe and oblivious - and, he supposed, this counted as modified bedrest. Jasper turned to Abigail. "I'll be right outside Darlin'. Shout if you need me."

"Alright," Abigail sighed. She flopped back down and pulled her book from the night stand. Still a voracious reader, Jasper happily noted, she had completed half the novel. Jasper and Edward left the cottage wordlessly, settling into the garden chairs. Snow settled on the ground, obscuring their footprints and turning the metal seats cold, even for their chilled skin. The dry sprigs of dead flora reared up from the snowfall.

"Do you have any evidence that it was Chelsea, or is it just a theory?" Jasper asked. Edward replied, "it is just a theory, however, it is the best theory we have."

"The only theory we have," Jasper muttered.

Edward said, "I wish I could draw the scents from the wolves' memories. I can only get the impressions of what they detected. They're hardly eloquent. It's a bit like a kindergartener trying to describe the notes in wine."

Edward allowed a smirk to flash across his lips, but it was erased by an emptiness of expression. He was suddenly unaware of the snowy landscape before them. Jasper bristled, preparing to defend his family, but his brother's emotions were calm,tinged only with curiosity. Jasper relaxed. "Who's coming?"

"Alice," Edward responded. His brows were creased in thought. "She wants to talk to Abigail."

"Why?" Jasper asked. He knew the answer would not come form his brother. He heard the clatter of Alice's heels as she near-skated to them. She stood in front of Jasper with her hand on her hips, snow sticking to the plum folds of her designer mini skirt. One of her crafted eyebrows arched and a hard set to her jaw. He raised an eyebrow at her defiant display and a grin pulled at his lips. Her high voice appeared over the wind. "She is the mother of my step children. Of course I want to meet her."

Jasper said, "you'll be good? Not say anything that you shouldn't?"

In perfect time with a flash of annoyance, Alice rolled her eyes. Jasper expected her to scoff and chastise him for questioning her, but her delicate hands had found their way to caress his chest. She pulled her nails down his torso and hooked her fingers through his belt loops, thrusting his hips to hers.

"Don't you trust me?" Alice's eyes sparkled up at him beneath her heavy lashes.

"Of course," Jasper breathed. _Alice . . . sexy . . . mate_.

He knew his thoughts were clouding with lust, but couldn't find it in himself to fight it. The pride that had swelled in his chest at her brilliant use of strategy had melted into desire. She floated to her tiptoes; her lips were mere inches from his.

"I," she cooed, "am going to go talk to her now. And we will finish this later."

She pecked a kiss on his cheek before skipping through the front door of the cottage.

Edward's face was screwed with disgust. He said, "gross."

* * *

 **A/N: Just out of curiosity, Jalice or Jabigail? Also, does anyone have a better ship name than Jabigail?**


	9. Chapter 9

Disbelief and pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. It shot through her with every beat of her heart. _Pain. Pain. Heartbreak._

"Jasper!"

Her cry was weak.

"Abigail!" Jasper said. His chair clattered to the frozen ground as he flew back to the cottage.

Edward jumped after him, but suddenly stopped. He had read someone's mind - Alice's, Abigail's, Jasper's own? Regardless, it had frozen him in place. He frowned and slowly lowered himself back into the chair.

Jasper threw the door open. There was no great threat, no red eyes, no Volturi. There was only Alice, sitting on the armchair, her legs crossed primly and the toe of her designer stilettos tapping the ground. She held Abigail's hand in her own and she wore a mask of sympathy. Her lips were pursed and she cooed her attempts at comfort.

"Shh," Alice hummed, "shhh."

Her manicured thumb slid over Abigail's limp fingers.

Abigail's heart was beating out of time, fast and erratic. Their twins were panicking. Every pound of their mother's heart felt like death. There were tears tumbling over the round planes of Abigail's cheeks and her lip quivered. Jasper flashed to her side, gently taking her face in his hands and guiding her to her feet. As he ran his fingertips below her eyes, brushing away the stray drops, she pressed her body into his. Her skin burned and her form felt delicate. Jasper flooded her body with peace, rejoicing as her heartbeat steadied and the fetal panic ebbed.

"Jasper," Abigail said softly. It wasn't a question, but a pleading statement. He wrapped her in his arms, and breathed, "shh. What's wrong, Darlin'?"

He looked at Alice, and her emotions pulsed with hurt under his steely glare. He imagined the reason for her pain: he was holding another woman, he was angry with her. It was almost enough to arouse his sympathies.

Abigail shook her head, burying her face further into his chest. "Please tell me she's lying."

It was barely a whisper, not meant for anyone but him. But Alice, blessed - or cursed - with vampiric hearing, bristled at the comment and folded her arms tightly over her chest. And Jasper's temper flared. With barely concealed rage, and fury in his expression - which he dedicated wholly to Alice - he said, "what is it that she told you?"

"I . . ."

Jasper felt Abigail bite her lip. Though she didn't break the skin, her worrying teeth popped a few capillaries and blood pooled under the thin membrane.

"I don't wish to say.'

What could be so horrible that she could not speak it aloud? He had his suspicions of course, but the last threads of trust he had in Alice held him to the idea that she would not betray his explicit wish. He had begged her not to tell Abigail that they were married. He had implored Alice not to shatter the last piece of stability Abigail had.

"I just told her the truth, Jazz," Alice said. Her tone was one of exasperation. "That you and I are mates."

That was a truth beyond which Jasper had expected. How had Alice defined a mate for Abigail? It was the prevailing mythos - particularly amongst those whom had never felt love before or since - that a vampire was only capable of loving their mate. This was a comforting thought, but Jasper had and still did love Abigail. He could not let her believe anything less.

Abigail whimpered. Nonplussed, Alice continued, "and that you haven't seen her for over a hundred and fifty years, and how could she possibly expect you to still love her? She doesn't even know you . . ."

The pause Alice took, and its implications, were cruel. Yes, Jasper hadn't told Abigail of Maria. He hadn't divulged every monstrous act he had ever committed. He would, in time. And he did not deserve Alice's accusations.

"She doesn't know all you have done," Alice shot him a meaningful look.

He felt confusion bubble into Abigail's blend of emotions, settling into its place beside fear and grief. It crossed his mind to kiss her, to cement his love for her and permanently banish these emotions, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. That would be a true betrayal of Alice's trust, and of his marriage vows.

"Get out, Alice," Jasper said, "I don't want you alone with her again."

Alice rolled her eyes. Her voice was thick with cruel sarcasm. "You can't kick me out, Jasper. Carlisle owns this property, not you."

"Oh," Jasper growled, "I think Carlisle will agree that your little _comments_ are bad for Abigail's health."

Abigail was clinging to him as best she could around her abdomen, but her petite arms could not wrap around him the way she needed. She gripped his shirt at the shoulders and clung as though her sanity depended on it. If Jasper took his focus, and his gift, from her for a moment, her heart would react with wild palpitations. So he rested his hands on her back, slowly running circles across her skin. The twins were stirring like mad, a note of distress lingering in their minds.

"Her health," Alice scoffed, "please."

Alice could hear the heartbeats, and Abigail's distress was not subtle.

"We will talk about this later," Jasper bit.

Alice jumped to her feet with a hiss of protest. Jasper expected her to give a childish stamp of her foot.

"That's great Jasper," she said, "keep your wife -"

She gestured emphatically to herself.

"- away from your mistress."

Abigail gasped and shoved away from Jasper. He let her break his hold on her and stumble a few steps backwards. She looked pale and horrified. He tried to reach for her again, but she took another step away and gasped, "I did not mean . . . I would never . . . I - I'm sorry."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. The hues of green swam together.

"Abigail," Jasper breathed, "no. It's not like that, Darlin'. I'm going to to go talk to Alice outside, and then I will come back. Sit here."

Abigail allowed him to guide her to a seated position on the couch. Alice bristled at the touch of his hand on her elbow, but she bit her tongue. Once Abigail was comfortably tucked into the couch, a pillow behind her back to support her spine and a blanket draped across her legs, Jasper said to her, "maybe we can discuss baby names?"

Her eyes lit up and the tears, though they still forged their slow path down her face, seemed forgotten. Jasper could see the ideas sparking in her mind.

He turned and exited the cottage. Though he did not spare a word for Alice, he expected to hear the click of her heels behind him, and to feel her fury and hurt tailing him. He had his own anger to contend with, and he was trying to wrestle it into submission. The memory of the previous night: Abigail's sweet acceptance of his embrace as he carried her to bed. She shone with love and trust. The twins were peaceful, nestled safely away. The effect was instantaneous, and Jasper was calmed.

He escorted Alice back to the garden where he and Edward had conversed. Edward - in the spirit of rigid politeness - had abandoned the area. And Jasper was grateful. He lowered himself into one of the chairs and encouraged Alice to do the same. The space between them was as chilly as the snow on the ground. The landscape was barren. A dry, brown leaf disentangled itself from the dead branch of a tree and lay itself to rest on the ice.

"We should talk," Jasper said.

Alice snapped, "aren't we already talking?"

"I mean actually talk," Jasper clarified. The walk had cleared his mind. Though it was short, it had given him the space to breathe. The cottage had become like a crucible. He was sure Alice had said things she did not mean.

His wife took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Alice said. The look of contrition was plastered on her face. Jasper offered a timid smile – an olive branch. And he extended his gift. Alice relaxed, melting against the back of the chair. She said, "I didn't mean that. What I said. I was just hurt. "

"I know, Allie," Jasper said "can we get past this, please? I would like our relationship to return to normal."

He chuckled, but it was strained. Another leaf fell from the gnarled tree.

"As normal as the situation can allow, that is."

"Of course," Alice said, "I do not want you to touch Abigail anymore."

Jasper recoiled. "What?"

"You touch her too frequently," Alice said, "it makes me . . . uncomfortable."

"I don't touch her inappropriately," he said. The accusation – no matter how calm the tone, there was no mistaking this for anything else – felt like a slap. He rooted his pride in his perfect southern manners.

"I know," Alice said, "but also I know that you love her, and seeing you touch her at all makes me jealous. "

Jasper could think of a million protests. Abigail was crying. His gift worked best through physical contact. He did not touch her – it was just a hug, really – in anyway that he would not touch Esme or Rosalie or Charlotte. But he held these back. He said, "alright, Allie. I won't touch her anymore."

After a moment's thought, he added, "with the exception of her stomach."

At Alice's petulantly raised eyebrow, he said, "they are my children. I deserve to feel them move."

His mind drifted to be increased warmth and the strange turning of skin under his fingertips. It felt almost as though they were reaching out for him, their father.

"Fine," Alice said.

"Do you have any more rules?" Jasper asked.

"If I can't be alone with her, then you can't be either," she said.

Another slap to the face. Did she really not trust him? Were decades of loyalty not enough? Through gritted teeth, he said, "okay."

"So, which is it?" Alice said, eyebrow raised expectantly.

"What?"

"Can both of us be alone with her, or can neither of us be alone with her?" she asked.

Jasper was taken aback, and he reassessed the range of emotions she had displayed. She had begun with hurt and anger, but somewhere her mood had spiralled from the visceral reactions of his quasi-rejection. He had missed the point when they crossed into scheming. Now, she was indignant and resigned.

"I thought you were being distrustful," Jasper snapped, "but you're just being petty."

"Excuse me?!" Alice shrieked, "I'm being _petty_? How dare you! I'm trying to save our relationship. At least what's left of it. You told me you would tell her, but obviously you can't do that, so I had to do it for you."

"When was I supposed to tell her, Alice?" Jasper said.

"How about right after you promised me you would?"

Jasper scoffed, "when she was asleep? Was I supposed to wake her up and break her heart? Maybe after some strange vampire came sniffing around, right? I should add a little grief to her fear."

"Maybe you should think about your wife!" Alice made a victim of the closest tree, sending her designer heel into the thick trunk and toppling it. The bark had scuffed the patent leather, something that would bring a whole new fury later, but, for now, she was too distracted to care. With a final screech of displeasure, she took off towards the house.

Jasper stood alone, muttering about the childishness of her physical display. The tree she kicked had hit another, and all of its leaves - they had barely been clinging before - crumbled into the snow. Abigail called to him, both in voice and in spirit. She had a tone of worry, having heard the felled tree, but her emotions were wavering between concern and excitement.

Baby names. He had promised Abigail baby names.

Jasper would deal with his wife when she decided to stop playing games.


	10. Chapter 10

Jasper was welcomed by Abigail's beam as she cast warmth and light through the cottage. The whites - walls, couch, and carpet - were brighter. The light pink and lavender accents were softer. Her emotions were pure love and unadulterated trust. As she greeted him, her voice caressed his name, "good afternoon, Jasper."

Alice's rules be damned. Abigail was begging to be adored. He lifted her into his arms, enveloping her body in a tight embrace. Her cheeks heated and flushed as he nuzzled his skin against hers.

"How are you so accepting of this?" he breathed, "how are you so wonderful?"

Abigail giggled. "I was shocked at first, of course. But I love you unconditionally, and I know that you love me. And that everything will work out in the end."

Ever optimistic. Ever lovely.

Jasper pulled back enough to look in her eyes. They shone with pure adoration.

Ever his.

"Come along," she purred, "we'll decide what to name these boys."

With a teasing grin, she tapped her baby bump against his hip. He flinched away like it hurt, but yearned for her to do it again.

"Boys?" Jasper said. "I was hoping the second was a girl. One of each?"

"Hmm," Abigail hummed, "that would be quite sweet."

Images filled Jasper's mind. If he ever were to voice them, he would have to endure endless teasing from Emmett and Peter - God, he was practically civilian, and Peter would never stop mocking. He imagined himself taking a tiny little toddler to dance class, and watching her flounce and twirl around in a tutu, her blonde hair pulled into a bun. Even in his fantasies, he could not manage to wrangle such hair - it would be long and curly like her mother's - into anything presentable. That task would fall to Abigail, or Esme or Rosalie. Perhaps even Renesmee. She did seem keen to have a cousin.

Another voice managed to intrude into his thoughts. Just the briefest flash of an image, but enough to send his nerves wild: Abigail, sprawled on a medical table with twisted limbs and profuse bleeding, his children cold and blue inside of her. All of them dead.

"No," he hissed.

Abigail dropped onto the couch and tucked her legs under herself. His curse had been too low for her ears, his discomfort too quick for her to register. She was nearly bouncing with excitement. Now that they were alone, all proper prestense had vanished.

"I was thinking Alexander for the boy," she chirped.

"After your father?"

Jasper had never met her father, and Abigail barely remembered him herself, having been orphaned at such a tender age. Her parents had been taken by the same illness that had left her body forever petite: tuberculosis. Or consumption, as it was known in those days. But it was tradition to name the first born after their grandfather. The paternal grandfather would be the height of decorum, but Jasper's own father had left his family.

"Yes," she said, "unless you object?"

"No, of course not. Alexander is a fine name."

Abigail grinned. "Alexander it is, then. And the second child?"

She was the sunshine, Jasper would say it until his last breath left his body.

"Well, that will depend on its gender," Jasper said. Her bottom lip poked out and her brows creased. "I do wish we knew. Can we do another ultrasound soon?"

"I'm sure," Jasper said. Very soon, he prayed.

"Pick a name, Jasper. Surely you've had enough time to consider. You are ancient," Abigail said. Her eyes sparkled and Jasper laughed, "practically a relic. But don't tease me too bad, Darlin'. You're only a year or so behind me."

"Oh, but you've been livin' this whole time. I . . . well, I haven't been," Abigail said, "now, focus, Love. We're naming children."

"I'd like to name the second baby after my sister," Jasper said. She nodded, a knowing expression flitting across her face. Of course she had anticipated this. She knew him like he knew himself. At least she used to. Though, he found that, when he was with her, he was the same young soldier he had been so many years ago. No gristle, no cynicism.

Abigail said, "Josephine, then?"

"Just Posie," Jasper corrected, "or, because my sister was named after our grandfather, Joseph, I would like our second son to take that name."

"Alexander and Joseph," Abigail hummed. Jasper shook his head. "Alexander and Posie."

"Either way," Abigail breathed, "they sound adorable."

Her slender hand trailed the curve of her stomach, lingering on her waist as it fluttered with the kicks of the second baby. Her eyes shone with love and she motioned for Jasper to rest his hand there too. He rested his palm flat against her stomach, and was rewarded with another ballet of delicate movements. He was about to ask after middle names when the foot falls of another vampire pricked his attention. Lord help Alice if she was trying to ruin this moment for him.

Then the footsteps were joined by another's.

Just as he heard the snarls of the wolves, he realized the sounds were coming from the wrong direction. The house was upwind of this cottage; these vampires approached downwind, purposefully hiding their scents.

Jasper's growl was low and deep in his chest.

Abigail tensed.

He jumped to his feet and backed Abigail against the wall. No one could come up behind them. His body formed a second wall in front of her. No one could get through him. He watched the door, waiting for the attack.

The wolves growled and spit, but Jasper could not hear the clangs of fighting.

"Holy shit! Jasper, call off your dogs!"

Peter.

The second footsteps were presumably Charlotte. Jasper stepped to the side, his posture relaxing.

"Abigail," he said gently, "it's alright. They're my friends."

"They?" Abigail squeaked. He smiled at and calmed her. "They're a couple. Peter and Charlotte. We've been friends for a long time."

She nodded and relaxed, waddling back to the couch. Jasper debated how he would proceed. He needed to rescue his friends from the wolves - evidently joining each other in battle was not enough to heal in-born rivalry. Seth and Leah would not attack, but they would not let them by. He could bring Abigail, carrying her, as the journey was a least a mile. But Peter and Char could be hungry, not expecting to encounter a human on their visit. And there was the simple matter of why they were here in the first place. For two vampires supposedly in hiding, they were being quite conspicuous.

"Come here, Darlin'," Jasper called, holding out his arms for Abigail. She frowned as she approached, and he added, "we're going to meet them. I'll have to carry you. Bed rest and all."

"Alright," Abigail said, reaching up and twining her arms around his neck. He lifted her with ease, holding her body close to his, protective and cautious, hopefully in abundance. Jasper was still wary of thirst-blackened eyes.

"There is something I should tell you before you meet them," he said. He tried to keep his voice light. There was no need to poison her mind with his own worries. "They will have red eyes, as they are human-drinkers. I didn't want it to startle you."

Her eyes widened and her fingers clenched in his shirt. There would be permanent marks in the fabric. Alice would have yet another reason to pitch a fit.

"It's alright," Jasper assured her, "you're safe. They only kill bad humans."

"You mean criminals?" Abigail asked nervously. And Jasper nodded his confirmation. It was their own brand of morality: not preying on the innocent.

She nodded, content in that knowledge, and in the knowledge that her love would never put her in harm's way. She nuzzled into his chest. He carried her at a slow jog - twenty miles per hour. He was afraid any jostling might knock the contents of her stomach loose.

They approached the standoff from behind the two vampires, both of which were crouched low, prepared to attack at the slightest betrayal from the wolves. Peter's shirt had a jagged rip parallel to his shoulder blade, and Charlotte's bobbed hair was tangled and matted. They had clearly gone ages without proper hygiene. They had truly been fleeing. The wolves' haunches were tensed and prepared to spring. Froth dripped from the corners of their bared teeth.

"Seth, Leah," Jasper called, "stand down. They're friends."

The wolves' emotions flashed with anger and reluctance, but they obeyed. Leah jumped away, her small grey form disappearing quickly into the woods. With a deferential nod at Jasper, Seth lumbered off after his sister. When the last hair of his tail had disappeared from view, Peter and Charlotte rose to their full heights and turned to face Jasper.

"I thought I smelled a human," Charlotte joked, smiling kindly at the girl in Jasper's arms. "I'm Charlotte."

"Abigail," she replied politely, "pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," Charlotte said.

Peter stared at the girl with a raised eyebrow, making a show of looking her up and down, eyes lingering on the rounded stomach. "Starting a harem, Jasper?"

"Shut up, Peter," Jasper barked. He didn't mean it. The joke was funny, but he doubted Abigail would find it so. If she knew what a harem was? Despite her exhaustive reading, there was no guarantee she had ever come across that word.

The pulse of annoyance from Abigail told him otherwise.

Charlotte smacked Peter on the shoulder and shot him an admonishing look before she said to Abigail. "My childish husband is named Peter. And I promise he will behave himself in the future."

"Good luck with that, Char," Jasper said, "you've been trying to house train him for a century and it hasn't worked yet."

Before Charlotte could react, Alice's scent appeared, then her form. Her fury preceded all of it.

"Pixie!" Peter greeted, "what's up?"

Alice huffed in his general direction before turning to Jasper. Her eyebrow was raised expectantly. Abigail wrapped her arms around Jasper's neck, and his wife's fury grew when he did nothing to stop her.

"I'm not going to drop her into the snow, Alice," Jasper said.

"Fine," Alice said, "we are all going back to the cottage. We need to talk."

No one moved. Peter and Charlotte looked at Jasper for confirmation, only taking off at his shrug. They were back at the cottage in the flash of moment. Jasper settled Abigail onto the couch. The vampires stood, tense and fanned around the room. Jasper hovered close to Abigail. Alice stood as far away from them as possible.

"We haven't led the Volturi to you, if that's what you're wondering," Charlotte said to Alice, who was handing out deadly glares to everyone present.

"Oh, I know," Alice said.

"They aren't following you?" Jasper asked. His hands were clasped behind his back, all business. Peter shook his head. "Only for the first couple of days. Then, they just . . . stopped. It was weird, Major. Like their heart wasn't in it or somethin'."

"Their heart wasn't in it?" Jasper repeated, incredulous. What happened to Aro's threats? That all of Maria's associates must die? They certainly don't seem to have had any strange time-travel punishments inflicted upon them.

"Aro lied," Jasper announced. Perhaps not about everything. They had made some show of hunting down Peter and Charlotte. He had no confirmation that Maria was or was not dead. And Jasper himself had certainly committed crimes.

"Yeah," Peter said, "he's been known to do that. Wonder why, though. What does he want from you? Can't be your gift, cause that ain't anything but annoying."

"Thanks, Peter," Jasper deadpanned, and Alice gasped. There was shock and realization - in equal measure - pouring from her. "It's me. They want me."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just as self-absorbed as always, I see, Alice."

She grimaced. "No, I'm right. They want me. That's why Aro brought her here - "

Alice threw her hand towards Abigail, a scornful expression on her face. Abigail flinched, and Jasper was sure that she had never had such anger directed at her before. He wanted to jump between the two women, and keep Alice's jealousy from ruining Abigail's perfect innocence.

Jasper felt a pulse of regret at that thought. This revelation - and it did seem to make the most sense - had dumped another layer onto his feelings. They felt like they were no longer his own, and that every preference he showed, whether it be for Alice or for Abigail, was either a win or a loss for Aro. And that thought, where he had assumed the worst of his wife's intentions and praised Abigail, had definitely been a win for Aro.

" - he wants to break us up."


End file.
